SONGS, BALLADS, 



SACRED SONGS. 



BY THOMAS MOORE. 




' As once a Grecian maiden 



LONDON: 

PRINTED FOR 

LONGMAN, BROWN, GREEN, AND LONGMANS, 

PATERNOSTER-ROW. 
1849. 






London : 

Si'Ottiswoodes and Shaw, 

New-street-Square. 



sT/? 



ADVERTISEMENT. 



5/ 



It having been represented to the Publishers, that 
the Songs and Ballads of the Author of " Lalla 
Rookh " had never been given to the Public in a form 
at once complete and easily accessible, they have been 
induced to collect and print them uniformly with 
the editions of " The Irish Melodies " and " Lalla 
Rookh," recently published. Besides the well-known 
" National Airs " and " Sacred Songs," this volume 
contains all the Songs and Ballads that are included 
in the collective edition of Mr. Moore's Works, and 
thus offers, in a small compass, the whole of those 
beautiful compositions, with many of which, in their 
musical settings, the public are so familiar. 

November, 1849. 



CONTENTS, 



Page 
SONGS, BALLADS, &c. - - - - - 1 

SACRED SONGS - - - - - - 241 



[See the Alphabetical Index at the end of the Volume.] 



SONGS, BALLADS, 

&c. 



HAVE YOU NOT SEEN THE TIMID TEAR. 

Have you not seen the timid tear, 

Steal trembling from mine eye ? 
Have you not mark'd the flush of fear, 

Or caught the murmur'd sigh ? 
And can you think my love is chill, 

Nor fix'd on you alone ? 
And can you rend, by doubting still, 

A heart so much your own ? 

To you my soul's affections move, 

Devoutly, warmly true ; 
My life has been a task of love, 

One long, long thought of you. 
If all your tender faith be o'er, 

If still my truth you'll try ; 
Alas, I know but o?ie proof more — 

I'll bless your name, and die ! 



SONGS AND BALLADS. 



REUBEN AND EOSE. 

A TALE OF ROMANCE. 



The dai'kness that hung upon Willumberg's walls 
Had long been remember'd with awe and dismay; 

For years not a sunbeam had play'd in its halls, 
And it seem'd as shut out from the regions of day. 

Though the valleys were brighten'd by many a beam, 
Yet none could the woods of that castle illume ; 

And the lightning, which flash'd on the neighbouring 
stream, 
Flew back, as if fearing to enter the gloom ! 

" Oh ! when shall this horrible darkness disperse ! " 

Said Willumberg's lord to the Seer of the Cave; — 

" It can never dispel," said the wizard of verse, 

" Till the bright star of chivalry sinks in the wave ! " 

And who was the bright star of chivalry then ? 

Who could be but Reuben, the flow'r of the age ? 
For Reuben was first in the combat of men, 

Though Youth had scarce written his name on her 



For Willumberg's daughter his young heart had beat, - 
For Rose, who was bright as the spirit of dawn, 

When with wand dropping diamonds, and silvery feet, 
It walks o'er the flow'rs of the mountain and lawn. 



SONGS AND BALLADS. 

Must Rose, then, from Reuben so fatally sever ? 

Sad, sad were the words of the Seer of the Cave, 
That darkness should cover that castle for ever, 

Or Reuben be sunk in the merciless wave ! 

To the wizard she flew, saying, " Tell me, oh, tell ! 

Shall my Reuben no more be restor'd to my eyes ? ' 
" Yes, yes — when a spirit shall toll the great bell 

Of the mould'ring abbey, your Reuben shall rise!" 

Twice, thrice he repeated " Your Reuben shall rise ! " 
And Rose felt a moment's release from her pain ; 

And wiped, while she listen'd, the tears from her eyes, 
And hop'd she might yet see her hero again. 

That hero could smile at the terrors of death, 

When he felt that he died for the sire of his Rose ; 

To the Oder he flew, and there, plunging beneath, 
In the depth of the billows soon found his repose. — 

How strangely the order of destiny falls ! — 
Not long in the waters the warrior lay, 

When a sunbeam was seen to glance over the walls, 
And the castle of Willumberg bask'd in the ray ! 

All, all but the soul of the maid was in light, 
There sorrow and terror lay gloomy and blank : 

Two days did she wander, and all the long night, 
In quest of her love, on the wide river's bank. 



4 SONGS AND BALLADS. 

Oft, oft did she pause for the toll of the bell, 

And heard but the breathings of night in the air ; 

Long, long did she gaze on the watery swell, 

And saw but the foam of the white billow there. 

And often as midnight its veil would undraw, 

As she look'd at the light of the moon in the stream, 

She thought 'twas his helmet of silver she saw, 

As the curl of the surge glitter'd high in the beam. 

And now the third night was begemming the sky ; 

Poor Rose, on the cold dewy margent reclin'd, 
There wept till the tear almost froze in her eye, 

When — hark! — 'twas the bell that came deep in the 
wind ! 

She startled, and saw, through the glimmering shade, 

A form o'er the waters in majesty glide ; 
She knew 'twas her love, though his cheek was decay'd, 

And his helmet of silver was wash'd by the tide. 

Was this what the Seer of the Cave had foretold? — 
Dim, dim through the phantom the moon shot a gleam ; 

'Twas Reuben, but, ah! he was deathly and cold, 
And fleeted away like the spell of a dream ! 

Twice, thrice did he rise, and as often she thought 

From the bank to embrace him, but vain her endeavour ! 

Then, plunging beneath, at a billow she caught, 
And sunk to repose on its bosom for ever ! 



SONGS AND BALLADS. 



THE WREATH YOU WOVE. 

The wreath you wove, the wreath you wove 

Is fair — but oh, how fair, 
If Pity's hand had stol'n from Love 

One leaf to mingle there ! 

If every rose with gold were tied, 

Did gems for dewdrops fall, 
One faded leaf where Love had sigh'd 

"Were sweetly worth them all. 

The wreath you wove, the wreath you wove 

Our emblem well may be ; 
Its bloom is yours, but hopeless Love 

Must keep its tears for me. 



HYMN OE A VIRGIN OF DELPHI, 

AT THE TOMB OF HER MOTHER. 

Oh, lost, for ever lost — no more 

Shall Vesper light our dewy way 
Along the rocks of Crissa's shore, 

To hymn the fading fires of day; 
No more to Tempe's distant vale 

In holy musings shall we roam, 
Through summer's glow and winter's gale, 

To bear the mystic chaplets home. 1 

1 The laurel, for the common uses of the temple, for adorning the 
altars and sweeping the pavement, was supplied by a tree near the 

B 3 



6 SONGS AND BALLADS. 

'Twas then my soul's expanding zeal, 

By nature warm'd and led by thee. 
In every breeze was taught to feel 

The breathings of a Deity. 
Guide of my heart ! still hovering round, 

Thy looks, thy words are still my own — 
I see thee raising from the ground 

Some laurel, by the winds o'erthrown, 
And hear thee say, " This humble bough 

" Was planted for a doom divine ; 
<s And, though it droop in languor now, 

" Shall flourish on the Delphic shrine ! 
" Thus, in the vale of earthly sense, 

" Though sunk awhile the spirit lies, 
" A viewless hand shall cull it thence, 

" To bloom immortal in the skies!" 

All that the young should feel and know. 

By thee was taught so sweetly well, 
Thy words fell soft as vernal snow, 

And all was brightness where they fell ! 
Fond soother of my infant tear, 

Fond sharer of my infant joy, 
Is not thy shade still ling'ring here ? 

Am I not still thy soul's employ ? 

fountain of Castalia ; but upon all important occasions, they sent to 
Tempe for their laurel. We find, in Pausanias, that this valley sup- 
plied the branches, of which the temple was originally constructed j 
and Plutarch says, in his Dialogue on Music, " The youth who brings 
the Tempic laurel to Delphi is always attended by a player on the 
flute." AAAa /utjp /ecu rep /caTCUco ( iu£bj'Ti ttcuoi tt]v TeixinKTjv Satpvriv eis 

At\CpJVS ■KO.pOjJLapTU avXriTrjs. 



SONGS AND BALLADS. 

Oh yes — and, as in former days, 

When, meeting on the sacred mount, 
Our nymphs awak'd their choral lays, 

And danc'd around Cassotis' fount ; 
As then, 'twas all thy wish and care, 

That mine should be the simplest mien, 
My lyre and voice the sweetest there, 

My foot the lightest o'er the green : 
So still, each look and step to mould, 

Thy guardian care is round me spread, 
Arranging every snowy fold, 

And guiding every mazy tread. 
And, when I lead the hymning choir, 

Thy spirit still, unseen and free, 
Hovers between my lip and lyre, 

And weds them into harmony. 
Flow, Plistus, flow, thy murmuring wave 

Shall never drop its silv'ry tear 
Upon so pure, so blest a grave, 

To memory so entirely dear ! 



WHY DOES AZUEE DECK THE SKY? 

"Why does azure deck the sky ? 

'Tis to be like thy looks of blue ; 
Why is red the rose's dye ? 

Because it is thy blushes' hue. 
All that's fair, by Love's decree, 
Has been made resembling thee ! 



SONGS AND BALLADS. 

Why is falling snow so white, 
But to be like thy bosom fair ? 

Why are solar beams so bright ? 

That they may seem thy golden hair ! 

All that's bright, by Love's decree, 

Has been made resembling thee ! 

Why are nature's beauties felt ? 

Oh ! 'tis thine in her we see ! 
Why has music power to melt ? 

Oh ! because it speaks like thee. 
All that's sweet, by Love's decree, 
Has been made resembling thee ! 



THE RING.' 

A TALE. 

Annulus tile viri. — Ovid. Amor. lib. ii. eleg. 15. 

The happy day at length arriv'd 

When Eupert was to wed 
The fairest maid in Saxony, 

And take her to his bed. 

1 I should be sorry to think that my friend had any serious in- 
tentions of frightening the nursery by this story : I rather hope — 
though the manner of it leads me to doubt — that his design was to 
ridicule that distempered taste which prefers those monsters of the 
fancy to the " speciosa miracula " of time poetic imagination. 

I find, by a note in the manuscript, that he met with this stoiy in a 
German author, Fromman upon Fascination, book iii. part vi. ch. 18. 
On consulting the work, I perceive that Fromman quotes it from 
Beluacensis, among many other stories equally diabolical and in- 
teresting. E. 



SONGS AND BALLADS. 

As soon as morn was in the sky, 

The feast and sports began ; 
The men admir'd the happy maid. 

The maids the happy man. 

In many a sweet device of mirth 

The day was pass'd along ; 
And some the featly dance amus'd, 

And some the dulcet song. 

The younger maids with Isabel 
Disported through the bowers, 

And deck'd her robe, and crown'd her head 
With motley bridal flowers. 

The matrons all in rich attire, 

"Within the castle walls, 
Sat listening to the choral strains 

That echo'd through the halls. 

Young Rupert and his friends repair'd 

Unto a spacious court, 
To strike the bounding tennis-ball 

In feat and manly sport. 

The bridegroom on his finger wore 

The wedding-ring so bright, 
Which was to grace the lily hand 

Of Isabel that night. 



10 SONGS AND BALLADS. 

And fearing lie might break the gem, 

Or lose it in the play, 
He look'd around the court, to see 

Where he the ring might lay 

Now, in the court a statue stood, 
Which there full long had been ; 

It might a Heathen goddess be, 
Or else, a heathen queen. 

Upon its marble finger then 
He tried the ring to fit ; 

And, thinking it was safest there, 
Thereon he fasten'd it. 

And now the tennis sports went on, 
Till they were wearied all, 

And messengers announc'd to them 
Their dinner in the hall. 

Young Rupert for his wedding-ring 

Unto the statue went ; 
But, oh, how shock'd was he to find 

The marble finger bent. 



The hand was clos'd upon the ring 
With firm and mighty clasp ; 

In vain he tried, and tried, and tried, 
He could not loose the grasp ! 



SONGS AND BALLADS. 11 

Then sore surpris'd was Rupert's mind — 

As well his mind might be ; 
" I'll come," quoth he, " at night again, 

" "When none are here to see." 

He went unto the feast, and much 

He thought upon his ring ; 
And marvell'd sorely what could mean 

So very strange a thing ! 

The feast was o'er, and to the court 

He hied without delay, 
Resolv'd to break the marble hand 

And force the ring away. 

But, mark a stranger wonder still — 

The ring was there no more, 
And yet the marble hand ungrasp'd, 

And open as before ! 

He search'd the base, and all the court, 

But nothing could he find ; 
Then to the castle hied he back 

With sore bewilder'd mind. 

Within he found them all in mirth, 

The night in dancing flew ; 
The youth another ring procur'd, 

And none the adventure knew. 



12 SONGS AND BALLADS. 

And now the priest has join'd their hands, 

The hours of love advance : 
Rupert almost forgets to think 

Upon the morn's mischance. 

Within the bed fair Isabel 

In blushing sweetness lay, 
Like flowers, half-open'd by the dawn, 

And waiting for the day. 

And Rupert, by her lovely side, 

In youthful beauty glows, 
Like Phoebus, when he bends to cast 

His beams upon a rose. 

And here my song would leave them both, 

Nor let the rest be told, 
If 'twere not for the horrid tale, 

It yet has to unfold. 

Soon Rupert, 'twixt his bride and him, 
A death cold carcass found ; 

He saw it not, but thought he felt 
Its arms embrace him round. 

He started up, and then return'd, 
But found the phantom still ; 

In vain he shrunk, it clipp'd him round, 
With damp and deadly chill ! 



SONGS AND BALLADS. 13 

And when he bent, the earthy lips 

A kiss of horror gave ; 
'Twas like the smell from charnel vaults, 

Or from the mould'ring grave. 

Ill fated Rupert ! — wild and loud 

Then cried he to his wife, 
" Oh ! save me from this horrid fiend, 

" My Isabel ! my life ! " 

But Isabel had nothing seen, 

She look'd around in vain ; 
And much she mourn'd the mad conceit 

That rack'd her Rupert's brain. 

At length from this invisible 

These words to Rupert came : 
(O God ! while he did hear the words 

What terrors shook his frame !) 

" Husband, husband, I've the ring, 

" Thou gav'st to-day to me ; 
" And thou'rt to me for ever wed, 

" As I am wed to thee ! " 

And all the night the demon lay 

Cold-chilling by his side, 
And strain'd him with such deadly grasp, 

He thought he should have died. 



14 SONGS AND BALLADS. 

But when the dawn of day was near, 
The horrid phantom fled, 

And left th' affrighted youth to weep 
By Isabel in bed. 

And all that day a gloomy cloud 
Was seen on Rupert's brows ; 

Fair Isabel was likewise sad, 
But strove to cheer her spouse. 

And, as the day advanc'd, he thought 
Of coming night with fear ; 

Alas, that he should dread to view 
The bed that should be dear ! 

At length the second night arriv'd, 
Again their couch they press'd ; 

Poor Rupert hop'd that all was o'er, 
And look'd for love and rest. 

But oh ! when midnight came, again 
The fiend was at his side, 

And, as it strain'd him in its grasp, 
With howl exulting cried : — 

" Husband, husband, I've the ring, 
" The ring thou gav'st to me ; 

" And thou'rt to me for ever wed, 
" As I am wed to thee ! " 



SONGS AND BALLADS. 

In agony of wild despair, 

He started from the bed ; 
And thus to his bewilder'd wife 

The trembling Rupert said : 

" Oh Isabel ! dost thou not see 
" A shape of horrors here, 

" That strains me to its deadly kiss, 
" And keeps me from my dear ? " 

" No, no, my love ! my Rupert, I 
" No shape of horrors see ; 

" And much I mourn the phantasy 
" That keeps my dear from me." 

This night, just like the night before, 

In terrors pass'd away, 
Nor did the demon vanish thence 

Before the dawn of day. 

Said Rupert then, " My Isabel, 
" Dear partner of my woe, 

" To Father Austin's holy cave 
" This instant will I go." 

Now Austin was a reverend man, 
Who acted wonders maint — 

Whom all the country round belie v'd 
A devil or a saint ! 



16 SONGS AND BALLADS. 

To Father Austin's holy cave 
Then Rupert straightway went ; 

And told him all, and ask'd him how 
These horrors to prevent. 

The Father heard the youth, and then 

Retir'd awhile to pray ; 
And, having prayed for half an hour 

Thus to the youth did say : 

" There is a place where'four roads meet, 

" Which I will tell to thee ; 
" Be there this eve, at fall of night, 

" And list what thou shalt see. 

" Thou'lt see a group of figures pass 

" In strange disorder'd crowd, 
" Travelling by torchlight through the roads, 

" With noises strange and loud. 

" And one that's high above the rest, 

" Tei'rific towering o'er, 
" Will make thee know him at a glance, 

" So I need say no more. 

" To him from me these tablets give, 

" They'll quick be understood ; 
" Thou need'st not fear, but give them straight, 

" I've scrawl'd them with my blood ! " 



SONGS AND BALLADS. 17 

The night-fall came, and Eupert all 

In pale amazement went 
To where the cross-roads met, as he 

Was by the Father sent. 

And lo ! a group of figures came 

In strange disorder'd crowd, 
Travelling by torchlight through the roads, 

"With noises strange and loud. 

And, as the gloomy train advanc'd, 

Eupert beheld from far 
A female form of wanton mien 

High seated on a car. 

And Eupert, as he gaz'd upon 

The loosely vested dame, 
Thought of the marble statue's look, 

For hers was just the same. 

Behind her walk'd a hideous form, 

With eyeballs flashing death ; 
Whene'er he breath'd, a sulphur'd smoke 

Came burning in his breath. 

He seem'd the first of all the crowd, 

Terrific towering o'er ; 
" Yes, yes," said Eupert, " this is he, 

" And I need ask no more." 
c 



18 SONGS AND BALLADS. 

Then slow he went, and to this fiend 

The tablets trembling gave, 
"Who look'd and read them with a yell 

That would disturb the grave. 

And when he saw the blood-scrawl'd name, 

His eyes with fury shine ; 
" I thought," cries he, " his time was out, 

" But he must soon be mine ! " 

Then darting at the youth a look 
Which rent his soul with fear, 

He went unto the female fiend, 
And whisper'd in her ear. 

The female fiend no sooner heard 

Than, with reluctant look, 
The very ring that Rupert lost, 

She from her finger took. 

And, giving it unto the youth, 
With eyes that breath'd of hell, 

She said, in that tremendous voice, 
Which he remember'd well : 

" In Austin's name take back the ring, 
" The ring thou gav'st to me ; 

" And thou'rt to me no longer wed, 
" Nor longer I to thee." 



SONGS AND BALLADS. 19 

He took the ring, the rabble pass'd, 

He home return'd again ; 
His wife was then the happiest fair, 

The happiest he of men. 



MARY, I BELIEV'D THEE TEUE. 1 

Mart, I believ'd thee true, 

And I was blest in thus believing ; 
But now I mourn that e'er I knew 

A girl so fair and so deceiving. 
Fare thee well. 

Few have ever loved like me, — 

Yes, I have loved thee too sincerely ! 

And few have e'er deceiv'd like thee, — 
Alas ! deceiv'd me too severely. 

•Fare thee well ! — yet think awhile 

On one whose bosom bleeds to doubt thee ; 

"Who now would rather trust that smile, 
And die with thee than live without thee. 

Fare thee well ! I'll think of thee, 

Thou leav'st me many a bitter token ; 

For see, distracting woman, see, 

My peace is gone, my heart is broken ! — ? 
Fare thee well! 

1 These words were written to the pathetic Scotch air " Galla 
Water." 



20 SONGS AND BALLADS. 

A BALLAD. 

THE LAKE OF THE DISMAL SWAMP. 
WRITTEN AT NORFOLK, IN VIRGINIA. 

" They tell of a young man, who lost his mind upon the death of a 
girl he loved, and who, suddenly disappearing from his friends, was 
never afterwards heard of. As he had frequently said, in his ravings, 
that the girl was not dead, hut gone to the Dismal Swamp, it is sup- 
posed he had wandered into that dreary wilderness, and had died of 
hunger, or been lost in some of its dreadful morasses." — Anon. 

" La Poesie a ses monstres conime la nature." — D'Alembekt. 

" They made her a grave, too cold and damp 

" For a soul so warm and true ; 
" And she's gone to the Lake of the Dismal Swamp, ' 
" Where, all night long, by a fire-fly lamp, 

" She paddles her white canoe. 

" And her fire-fly lamp I soon shall see, 

" And her paddle I soon shall hear; 
" Long and loving our life shall be, 
" And I'll hide the maid in a cypress tree, 

" When the footstep of death is near." 

Away to the Dismal Swamp he speeds — 

His path was rugged and sore, 
Through tangled juniper, beds of reeds, 
Through many a fen, where the serpent feeds, 

And man never trod before. 

1 The great Dismal Swamp is ten or twelve miles distant from 
Korfolk, and the Lake in the middle of it (about seven miles long) is 
called Drummond's Pond. 



SONGS AND BALLADS. 21 

And, "when on the earth he sunk to sleep, 

If slumber his eyelids knew, 
He lay, where the deadly vine doth weep 
Its venomous tear and nightly steep 

The flesh with blistering dew! 

And near him the she-wolf stirr'd the brake, 
And the copper-snake breath'd in his ear, 
Till he starting cried, from his dream awake, 
" Oh ! when shall I see the dusky Lake, 
" And the white canoe of my dear ?" 

He saw the Lake, and a meteor bright 

Quick over its surface play'd — 
" "Welcome," he said, " my dear one's light ! " 
And the dim shore echoed, for many a night, 

The name of the death-cold maid. 

Till he hollow'd a boat of the birchen bark, 

"Which carried him otf from shore ; 
Far, far he follow'd the meteor spark, 
The wind was high and the clouds were dark, 

And the boat return'd no more. 

But oft, from the Indian hunter's camp 

This lover and maid so true 
Are seen at the hour of midnight damp 
To cross the Lake by a fire-fly lamp, 

And paddle their white canoe ! 



22 SONGS AND BALLADS. 

THE 

STEERSMAN'S SONG, 

WRITTEN ABOARD THE BOSTON FRIGATE 28TH APRIL.' 

When freshly blows the northern gale, 

And under courses snug we fly ; 
Or when light breezes swell the sail, 

And royals proudly sweep the sky ; 
'Longside the wheel, unwearied still 

I stand, and, as my watchful eye 
Doth mark the needle's faithful thrill, 

I think of her I love, and cry, 

Port, my boy ! port. 

When calms delay, or breezes blow 

Right from the point we wish to steer ; 
When by the wind close-haul'd we go, 

And strive in vain the port to near ; 
I think 'tis thus the fates defer 

My bliss with one that's far away, 
And while remembrance springs to her, 

I watch the sails and sighing say, 

Thus, my boy ! thus. 

1 I left Bermuda in the Boston about the middle of April, in com- 
pany with the Cambrian and Leander, aboard the latter of which was 
the Admiral, Sir Andrew Mitchell, who divides his year between 
Halifax and Bermuda, and is the veiy soul of society and good- 
fellowship to both. We separated in a few days, and the Boston, 
after a short cruise, proceeded to New York. 



SONGS AND BALLADS. 23 

But see the wind draws kindly aft, 

All hands are up the yards to square, 
And now the floating stu'n-sails waft 

Our stately ship through waves and air. 
Oh ! then I think that yet for me 

Some breeze of fortune thus may spring, 
Some breeze to waft me, love, to thee — 

And in that hope I smiling sing, 

Steady, boy! so. 



SONG OF THE EVIL SPIRIT OE THE WOODS. 1 

Qua via difficilis, quaque est via nulla. 

Ovid. Meiam. lib. iii. v. 227. 

Now the vapour, hot and damp, 
Shed by day's expiring lamp, 
Through the misty ether spreads 
Every ill the white man dreads ; 
Fiery fever's thirsty thrill, 
Fitful ague's shivering chill ! 

Hark! I hear the traveller's song, 
As he winds the woods along ; — 

1 The idea of this poem occurred to me in passing through the very- 
dreary wilderness between Batavia, a new settlement in the midst of 
the woods, and the little village of Buffalo upon Lake Erie. This is 
the most fatiguing part of the route, in travelling through the Genesee 
country to Niagara. 

c 4 



24 SONGS AND BALLADS. 

Christian, 'tis the song of fear; 
Wolves are round thee, night is near, 
And the wild thou dar'st to roam — 
Think, 'twas once the Indian's home ! 1 

Hither, sprites, who love to harm 
Wheresoe'er you work your charm, 
By the creeks, or by the brakes, 
"Where the pale witch feeds her snakes, 
And the cayman 2 loves to creep, 
Torpid, to his wintry sleep : 
Where the bird of carrion flits, 
And the shudd'ring murderer sits, 3 
Lone beneath a roof of blood ; 
While upon his poison'd food, 
From the corpse of him he slew 
Drops the chill and gory dew. 



1 " The Five Confederated Nations (of Indians) were settled 
the banks of the Susquehannah and the adjacent country, until the 
year 1779, when General Sullivan, with an army of 4000 men, drove 
them from then country to Niagara, where, being obliged to live on 
salted provisions, to which they were unaccustomed, great numbers of 
them died. Two hundred of them, it is said, were buried in one 
grave, where they had encamped." — Morse's American Geography. 

2 The alligator, who is supposed to He in a torpid state all the 
winter, in the bank of some creek or pond, having previously swallowed 
a large number of pine knots, which are his only sustenance during 
the time. 

3 This was the mode of punishment for murder (as Charlevoix tells 
us) among the Hurons. " They laid the dead body upon poles at the 
top of a cabin, and the murderer was obliged to remain several days 
together, and to receive all that dropped from the carcass, not only on 
himself but on his food." 



SONGS AND BALLADS. 25 

Hither bend ye, turn ye hither, 
Eyes that blast and wings that wither ! 
Cross the wand'ring Christian's way, 
Lead him, ere the glimpse of day, 
Many a mile of mad'ning error, 
Through the maze of night and terror, 
Till the morn behold him lying 
On the damp earth, pale and dying. 
Mock him, when his eager sight 
Seeks the cordial cottage-light ; 
Gleam then, like the lightning-bug, 
Tempt him to the den that's dug 
For the foul and famish'd brood 
Of the she-wolf, gaunt for blood ; 
Or, unto the dangerous pass 
O'er the deep and dark morass, 
Where the trembling Indian brings 
Belts of porcelain, pipes, and rings, 
Tributes, to be hung in air, 
To the Fiend presiding there ! l 

Then, when night's long labour past, 
"VVilder'd, faint, he falls at last, 

1 " We find also collars of porcelain, tobacco, ears of maize, skins, 
&c. by the side of difficult and dangerous ways, on rocks, or by the 
side of the falls ; and these are so many offerings made to the spirits 
which preside in these places." — See Charlevoix's Letter on the Tra- 
ditions and the Religion of the Savages of Canada. 

Father Hennepin too mentions this ceremony ; he also says, " We 
took notice of one barbarian, who made a kind of sacrifice upon an 
oak at the Cascade of St. Anthony of Padua, upon the river Mis- 
sissippi." — See Hennepin's Voyage into North America. 



26 SONGS AND BALLADS. 

Sinking -where the causeway's edge 
Moulders in the slimy sedge, 
There let every noxious thing 
Trail its filth and fix its sting ; 
Let the bull-toad taint him over, 
Round him let mosquitoes hover, 
In his ears and eyeballs tingling, 
With his blood their poison mingling, 
Till, beneath the solar fires, 
Rankling all, the wretch expires ! 



BALLAD STANZAS. 

I knew by the smoke, that so gracefully cuii'd 
Above the green elms, that a cottage was near, 

And I said, " If there's peace to be found in the world, 
" A heart that was humble might hope for it here !" 

It was noon, and on flowers that languish'd around 

In silence repos'd the voluptuous bee ; 
Every leaf was at rest, and I heard not a sound 

But the woodpecker tapping the hollow beech-tree. 

And, " Here in this lone little wood," I exclaim'd, 
" "With a maid who was lovely to soul and to eye, 

" Who would blush when I prais'd her, and weep if I 
blam'd, 
" How blest could I live, and how calm could I die ! 



SONGS AND BALLADS. 2't 

" By the shade of yon sumach, whose red berry dips 
" In the gush of the fountain, how sweet to recline, 

" And to know that I sigh'd upon innocent lips, 

" "Which had never been sigh'd on by any but mine !" 



A CANADIAN BOAT SONG. 

WRITTEN ON THE RIVER ST. LAWRENCE. 1 

Et remigem cantus hortatur. 

QuiNTILIAN. 

Faintly as tolls the evening chime 

Our voices keep tune and our oars keep time. 

1 I wrote these words to an air which our boatmen sung to us 
frequently. The wind was so unfavourable that they were obliged to 
row all the way, and we were five days in descending the river from 
Kingston to Montreal, exposed to an intense sun during the day, and 
at night forced to take shelter from the dews in any miserable hut upon 
the banks that would receive us. But the magnificent scenery of the 
St. Lawrence repays all such difficulties. 

Our voyageurs had good voices, and sung perfectly in tune together. 
The original words of the ah, to which I adapted these stanzas, ap- 
peared to be a long, incoherent story, of which I could understand but 
little, from the barbarous pronunciation of the Canadians. It begins 

Dans mon chemin j'ai rencontre 

Deux cavaliers tres-bien montes ; 
And the refrain to every verse was, 

A l'ombre d'un bois je m'en vais jouer, 

A l'ombre d'un bois je m'en vais danser. 
I ventured to harmonise this air, and have published it. Without 
that charm which association gives to every little memorial of scenes 
or feelings that are past, the melody may, perhaps, be thought common 
and trifling ; but I remember when we have entered, at sunset, upon 
one of those beautiful lakes, into which the St. Lawrence so grandly 
and unexpectedly opens, I have heard this simple air with a pleasure 
which the finest compositions of the first masters have never given me ; 



28 SONGS AND BALLADS. 

Soon as the woods on shore look dim, 
We'll sing at St. Ann's our parting hymn. 1 
Row, brothers, row, the stream runs fast, 
The Eapids are near, and the daylight's past. 

Why should we yet our sail unfurl ? 
There is not a breath the blue wave to curl ; 
But, when the wind blows off the shore, 
Oh ! sweetly we'll rest our weary oar. 
Blow, breezes, blow, the stream runs fast, 
The Rapids are near, and the daylight's past. 

Utawas' tide ! this trembling moon 
Shall see us float over thy surges soon. 
Saint of this green isle ! hear our prayers, 
Oh, grant us cool heavens and favouring airs. 
Blow, breezes, blow, the stream runs fast, 
The Rapids are near, and the daylight's past. 

and now there is not a note of it which does not recall to my memory 
the dip of our oars in the St. Lawrence, the flight of our boat down 
the Eapids, and all those new and fanciful impressions to which my 
heart was alive during the whole of this very interesting voyage. 

The above stanzas are supposed to be sung by those voyageurs who 
go to the Grand Portage by the Utawas River. For an account of 
this wonderful undertaking, see Sir Alexander Mackenzie's General 
History of the Fur Trade, prefixed to his Journal. 

1 " At the Eapid of St. Ann they are obliged to take out part, if not 
the whole, of their lading. It is from this spot the Canadians consider 
they take their departure, as it possesses the last church on the island, 
which is dedicated to the tutelar saint of voyagers." — Mackenzie, 
General History of the Fur Trade. 



SONGS AND BALLADS. 29 

GAZEL. 

Rememberest thou the hour we past, — 
That hour the happiest and the last? 
Oh ! not so sweet the Siha thorn 
To summer bees, at break of morn, 
Not half so sweet, through dale and dell, 
To Camels' ears the tinkling bell, 
As is the soothing memory 
Of that one precious hour to me. 

How can we live, so far apart ? 
Oh ! why not rather, heart to heart, 

United live and die — 
Like those sweet birds, that fly together, 
With feather always touching feather, 

Link'd by a hook and eye ! * 



A TEMPLE TO FRIENDSHIP. 2 

(SPANISH AIR.) 

" A Temple to Friendship," said Laura, enchanted, 
" I'll build in this garden, — the thought is divine !" 

Her temple was built, and she now only wanted 
An image of Friendship to place on the shrine. 

1 This will appear strange to an English reader, hut it is literally 
translated from Abdallah's Persian, and the curious bird to which he 
alludes is the Juftak, of which I find the following account in 
Richardson : — "A sort of bird, that is said to have but one wing ; on 
the opposite side to which the male has a hook and the female a ring, 
so that, when they fly, they are fastened together." 

9 The thought is taken from a song by Le Prieur, called "La 
Statue de l'Amitie." 



30 SONGS AND BALLADS. 

She flew to a sculptor, who set down before her 
A Friendship, the fairest his art could invent ; 

But so cold and so dull, that the youthful adorer 
Saw plainly this was not the idol she meant. 

" Oh ! never," she cried, " could I think of enshrining 

" An image, whose looks are so joyless and dim ; — 
" But yon little god, upon roses reclining, 

" We'll make, if you please, Sir, a Friendship of him.'" 
So the bargain was struck ; with the little god laden 

She joyfully flew to her shrine in the grove : 
" Farewell," said the sculptor, " you're not the first 
maiden 

" Who came but for Friendship and took away Love." 



FLOW ON, THOU SHINING RIVER. 

(PORTUGUESE AIR.) 

Flow on, thou shining river ; 

But, ere thou reach the sea, 
Seek Ella's bower, and give her 

The wreaths I fling o'er thee. 
And tell her thus, if she'll be mine, 

The current of our lives shall be, 
With joys along their course to shine., 

Like those sweet flowers on thee. 

But if, in wand'ring thither, 

Thou find'st she mocks my prayer, 

Then leave those wreaths to wither 
Upon the cold bank there ; 



SONGS AND BALLADS. 31 

And tell her thus, when youth is o'er, 
Her lone and loveless charms shall be 

Thrown by upon life's weedy shore, 
Like those sweet flowers from thee. 



ALL THAT'S BEIGHT MUST FADE. 

(INDIAN AIR.) 

All that's bright must fade, — 

The brightest still the fleetest ; 
All that's sweet was made 

But to be lost when sweetest ! 
Stars that shine and fall ; — 

The flower that drops in springing; — 
These, alas ! are types of all 

To which our hearts are clinging. 
All that's bright must fade, — 

The brightest still the fleetest 
All that's sweet was made 

But to be lost when sweetest I 

Who would seek or prize 

Delights that end in aching ? 
Who would trust to ties 

That every hour are breaking ? 
Better far to be 

In utter darkness lying, 
Than to be bless'd with light and see 

That light for ever flying. 



< 



SONGS AND BALLADS. 

All that's bright must fade, — 
The brightest still the fleetest 

All that's sweet was made 
But to be lost when sweetest ! 



SO WARMLY WE MET. 

(HUNGARIAN AIR.) 

So warmly we met and so fondly we parted, 

That which was the sweeter ev'n I could not tell, — 
That first look of welcome her sunny eyes darted, 

Or that tear of passion, which bless'd our farewell. 
To meet was a heaven, and to part thus another, — 

Our joy and our sorrow seem'd rivals in bliss; 
Oh ! Cupid's two eyes are not liker each other 

In smiles and in tears, than that moment to this. 

The first was like day -break, new, sudden, delicious, — 

The dawn of a pleasure scarce kindled up yet ; 
The last like the farewell of daylight, more precious, 

More glowing and deep, as 'tis nearer its set. 
Our meeting, though happy, was ting'd by a sorrow 

To think that such happiness could not remain ; 
While our parting, though sad, gave a hope that to-morrow 

"Would bring back the bless'd hour of meeting again. 



THOSE EVENING BELLS. 

(AIR. THE BELLS OF ST. PETERSBURGH.) 

Those evening bells! those evening bells ! 
How many a tale their music tells, 



SONGS AND BALLADS. 33 

Of youth, and home, and that sweet time, 
When last I heard their soothing chime. 

Those joyous hours are pass'd away; 
And many a heart, that then was gay, 
"Within the tomb now darkly dwells, 
And hears no more those evening bells. 

And so 'twill be when I am gone ; 
That tuneful peal will still ring on, 
While other bards shall walk these dells, 
And sing your praise, sweet evening bells ! 



SHOULD THOSE FOND HOPES. 

(PORTUGUESE AIR.) 

Should those fond hopes e'er forsake thee, l 

Which now so sweetly thy heart employ ; 
Should the cold world come to wake thee 

From all thy visions of youth and joy ; 
Should the gay friends, for whom thou wouldst banish 

Him who once thought thy young heart his own, 
All, like spring birds, falsely vanish, 

And leave thy winter unheeded and lone ; — 

Oh ! 'tis then that he thou hast slighted 

Would come to cheer thee, when all seem'd o'er ; 

Then the truant, lost and blighted, 

Would to his bosom be taken once more. 

1 This is one of the many instances among my lyrical poems, — 
though the above, it must be owned, is an extreme case, — where the 
metre has been necessarily sacrificed to the structure of the air. 
J) 



34 SONGS AND BALLADS. 

Like that dear bird we both can remember, 
Who left us while summer shone round, 

But, when chill'd by bleak December, 
On our threshold a welcome still found. 



KEASON, FOLLY, AND BEAUTY. 

(ITALIAN AIR.) 

Reason, and Folly, and Beauty, they say, 
"Went on a party of pleasure one day : 

Folly play'd 

Around the maid, 
The bells of his cap rung merrily out ; 

While Reason took 

To his sermon-book — 
Oh ! which was the pleasanter no one need doubt, 
Which was the pleasanter no one need doubt. 

Beauty, who likes to be thought very sage, 
Turn'd for a moment to Reason's dull page, 

Till Folly said, 

"Look here, sweet maid!" — 
The sight of his cap brought her back to herself; 

While Reason read 

His leaves of lead, 
With no one to mind him, poor sensible elf! 
No, — no one to mind him, poor sensible elf! 

Then Reason grew jealous of Folly's gay cap ; 
Had he that on, he her heart might entrap — 



SONGS AND BALLADS. 35 

" There it is," 

Quoth. Folly, "old quiz !" 
(Folly was always good-natured, 'tis said,) 

" Under the sun l 

" There's no such fun, 
" As Reason with my cap and bells on his head, 
" Reason with my cap and bells on his head ! " 

But Reason the head-dress so awkwardly wore, 
That Beauty now lik'd him still less than before ; 

While Folly took 

Old Reason's book, 
And twisted the leaves in a cap of such ton, 

That Beauty vow'd 

(Though not aloud), 
She lik'd him still better in that than his own, 
Yes, — lik'd him still better in that than his own. 



FAEE THEE WELL, THOU LOVELY ONE! 

(SICILIAN AIR.) 

Fare thee well, thou lovely one ! 

Lovely still, but dear no more ; 
Once his soul of truth is gone, 

Love's sweet life is o'er. 
Thy words, whate'er their flatt'ring spell, 

Could scarce have thus deceived ; 
But eyes that acted truth so well 

Were sure to be believed. 



36 SONGS AND BALLADS. 

Then, fare thee well, thou lovely one ! 

Lovely still, but dear no more ; 
Once his soul of truth is gone, 

Love's sweet life is o'er. 

Yet those eyes look constant still, 

True as stars they keep their light ; 
Still those cheeks their pledge fulfil 

Of blushing always bright. 
'Tis only on thy changeful heart 

The blame of falsehood lies ; 
Love lives in every other part, 

But there, alas ! he dies. 
Then, fare thee well, thou lovely one ! 

Lovely still, but dear no more ; 
Once his soul of truth is gone, 

Love's sweet life is o'er. 



DOST THOU REMEMBER. 

(PORTUGUESE AIK.) 

Dost thou remember that place so lonely, 
A place for lovers, and lovers only, 

Where first I told thee all my secret sighs ? 
When, as the moonbeam, that trembled o'er thee, 
Illum'd thy blushes, I knelt before thee, 

And read my hope's sweet triumph in those eyes ? 
Then, then, while closely heart was drawn to heart, 
Love bound us — never, never more to part ! 



SONGS AND BALLADS. 37 

And when I call'd thee by names the dearest ! 
That love could fancy, the fondest, nearest, — 

"My life, my only life !" among the rest ; 
In those sweet accents that still enthral me, 
Thou saidst, "Ah ! wherefore thy life thus call me ? 

" Thy soul, thy soul's the name that I love best ; 
"For life soon passes., — but how bless'd to be 
"That Soul which never, never parts from thee!" 



OH, COME TO ME WHEN DAYLIGHT SETS. 

(VENETIAN AIK.) 

Oh, come to me when daylight sets ; 

Sweet ! then come to me, 
When smoothly go our gondolets 

O'er the moonlight sea. 
When Mirth's awake, and Love begins, 

Beneath that glancing ray, 
With sound of lutes and mandolins, 

To steal young hearts away. 
Then, come to me when daylight sets ; 

Sweet! then come to me, 
When smoothly go our gondolets 

O'er the moonlight sea. 

Oh, then's the hour for those who love, 

Sweet ! like thee and me ; 
When all's so calm below, above, 

In heav'n and o'er the sea. 

1 The thought in this verse is borrowed from the original Portuguese 
words. 

D 3 



38 SONGS AND BALLADS. 

"When maidens sing sweet barcarolles l 

And echo sings again 
So sweet, that all with ears and souls 

Should love and listen then. 
So, come to me when daylight sets ; 

Sweet ! then come to me, 
"When smoothly go our gondolets 

O'er the moonlight sea. 



OFT, IN THE STILLY NIGHT, 

(3COTCH AIE.) 

Oft, in the stilly night, 

Ere Slumber's chain has bound me, 
Fond Memory brings the light 
Of other days around me ; 
The smiles, the tears, 
Of boyhood's years, 
The words of love then spoken ; 
The eyes that shone, 
Now dimm'd and gone, 
The cheerful hearts now broken ! 
Thus, in the stilly night, 

Ere Slumber's chain hath bound me, 
Sad Memory brings the light 
Of other days around me. 

1 Barcarolles, sorte de chansons en langue Venitienne, que chantent 
gondoliers a Venise. — Rousseau, Dietionnaire de Musique. 



SONGS AND BALLADS. 39 

"When I remember all 

The friends, so link'd together, 
I've seen around me fall, 

Like leaves in wintry weather ; 
I feel like one, 
Who treads alone 
Some banquet-hall deserted, 
Whose lights are fled, 
"Whose garlands dead, 
And all but he departed ! 
Thus, in the stilly night, 

Ere Slumber's chain has bound me, 
Sad Memory brings the light 
Of other days around me. 



HAEK! THE VESPER HYMN IS STEALING. 

(RUSSIAN AIR.) 

Haek ! the vesper hymn is stealing 

O'er the waters soft and clear ; 
Nearer yet and nearer pealing, 
And now bursts upon the ear : 
Jubilate, Amen. 
Farther now, now farther stealing, 
Soft it fades upon the ear : 
Jubilate, Amen. 

Now, like moonlight waves retreating 
To the shore, it dies along ; 



40 SONGS AND BALLADS. 

Now, like angry surges meeting, 
Breaks the mingled tide of song : 
Jubilate, Amen. 
Hush ! again, like waves, retreating 
To the shore, it dies along : 
Jubilate, Amen. 



LOVE AND HOPE. 

(SWISS AIR.) 

At morn, beside yon summer sea, 
Young Hope and Love reclin'd ; 

But scarce had noon-tide come, when he 

Into his bark leap'd smilingly, 
And left poor Hope behind. 

" I go," said Love, " to sail awhile 

" Across this sunny main ; " 
And then so sweet his parting smile, 
That Hope, who never dreamt of guile, 

Believ'd he'd come again. 

She linger'd there till evening's beam 

Along the waters lay ; 
And o'er the sands, in thoughtful dream, 
Oft trac'd his name, which still the stream 

As often wash'd away. 

At length a sail appears in sight, 

And tow'rd the maiden moves ! 
'Tis Wealth that comes, and gay and bright, 
His golden bark reflects the light, 
But ah ! it is not Love's. 



SONGS AND BALLADS. 41 

Another sail — 'twas Friendship show'd 

Her night-lamp o'er the sea ; 
And calm the light that lamp bestow'd ; 
But Love had lights that warmer glow'd, 

And where, alas ! was he ? 

Now fast around the sea and shore 

Night threw her darkling chain ; 
The sunny sails were seen no more, 
Hope's morning dreams of bliss were o'er, — 
Love never came again. 



THERE COMES A TEME. 
(gekman air.) 

There comes a time, a dreary time, 

To him whose heart hath flown 
O'er all the fields of youth's sweet prime, 

And made each flower its own. 
'Tis when his soul must first renounce 

Those dreams so bright, so fond ; 
Oh ! then's the time to die at once, 

For life has nought beyond. 

When sets the sun on Afric's shore, 

That instant all is night ; 
And so should life at once be o'er, 

When Love withdraws his light ; — 
Nor, like our northern day, gleam on 

Through twilight's dim delay, 
The cold remains of lustre gone, 

Of fire long pass'd away. 



42 SONGS AND BALLADS. 

MY HARP HAS ONE UNCHARGING THEME. 

(SWEDISH AUK.) 

My harp has one unchanging theme, 

One strain that still comes o'er 
Its languid chord, as 'twere a dream 

Of joy that's now no more. 
In vain I try, with livelier air, 

To wake the breathing string ; 
That voice of other times is there, 

And saddens all I sing. 

Breathe on, breathe on, thou languid strain, 

Henceforth be all my own ; 
Though thou art oft so full of pain, 

Few hearts can bear thy tone. 
Yet oft thou'rt sweet, as if the sigh, 

The breath that Pleasure's wings 
Gave out, when last they wanton'd by, 

Were still upon thy strings. 



4 



OH, NO— NOT EV'N WHEN EHiST WE LOV'D. 

(CASHMERIAN AIR.) 

Oh, no — not ev'n when first we lov'd, 

"Wert thou as dear as now thou art ; 
Thy beauty then my senses mov'd, 

But now thy virtues bind my heart. 
What was but Passion's sigh before, 

Has since been turn'd to Reason's vow ; 
And, though I then might love thee more, 

Trust me, I love thee better now. 



SONGS AND BALLADS. 43 

Although my heart in earlier youth 

Might kindle with more wild desire, 
Believe me, it has gain'd in truth 

Much more than it has lost in fire. 
The flame now warms my inmost core, 

That then but sparkled o'er my brow, 
And, though I seem'd to love thee more, 

Yet, oh, I love thee better now. 



V PEACE BE AROUND THEE. 

(scotch air.) 

Pea.CE be around thee, wherever thou rov'st ; 

May life be for thee one summer's day, 
And all that thou wishest, and all that thou lov'st, 

Come smiling around thy sunny way ! 
If sorrow e'er this calm should break, 

May even thy tear& pass off so lightly, 
Like spring-showers, they'll only make 

The smiles that follow shine more brightly. 

May Time, who sheds his blight o'er all, 

And daily dooms some joy to death, 
O'er thee let years so gently fall, 

They shall not crush one flower beneath. 
As half in shade and half in sun 

This world along its path advances, 
May that side the sun's upon 

Be all that e'er shall meet thy glances. 



44 SONGS AND BALLADS. 

COMMON SENSE AND GENIUS. 

(FRENCH AIR.) 

While I touch the string, 

Wreathe my brows with laurel, 
For the tale I sing 

Has, for once, a moral. 
Common Sense, one night, 

Though not used to gambols, 
Went out by moonlight, 

With Genius, on his rambles. 

While I touch the string, &c. 

Common Sense went on, 

Many Avise things saying ; 
While the light that shone 

Soon set Genius straying. 
One his eye ne'er rais'd 

From the path before him ; 
T'other idly gaz'd 

On each night-cloud o'er him. 

While I touch the string, &c. 

So they came, at last, 

To a shady river ; 
Common Sense soon pass'd, 

Safe, as he doth ever ; 
While the boy, whose look 

Was in Heaven that minute, 
Never saw the brook 

But tumbled headlong in it ! 

While I touch the string, &c. 



SONGS AND BALLADS. 45 

How the Wise One smil'd, 

"When safe o'er the torrent, 
At that youth, so wild, 

Dripping from the current ! 
Sense went home to bed ; 

Genius, left to shiver 
On the bank, 'tis said, 

Died of that cold river ! 

While I touch the string, &c. 



THEN, FARE THEE WELL. 

(OLD ENGLISH AIR.) 

Then, fare thee well, my own dear love, 

This world has now for us 
No greater grief, no pain above 

The pain of parting thus, 
Dear love ! 

The pain of parting thus. 

Had we but known, since first we met, 
Some few short hours of bliss, 

We might, in numb'ring them, forget 
The deep, deep pain of this, 

Dear love ! 
The deep deep pain, of this. 



46 SONGS AND BALLADS. 

But no, alas, we've never seen 
One glimpse of pleasure's ray, 

But still there came some cloud between, 
And chas'd it all away, 

Dear love ! 
And chas'd it all away. 

Yet, ev'n could those sad moments last, 

Far dearer to my heart 
Were hours of grief together past, 

Than years of mirth apart, 
Dear love ! 

Than years of mirth apart. 

Farewell ! our hope was born in fears, 
And nurs'd 'mid vain regrets ; 

Like winter suns, it rose in tears, 
Like them in tears it sets, 

Dear love ! 
Like them in tears it sets. 



GAILY SOUNDS THE CASTANET. 

(MALTESE AIR.) 

Gaily sounds the castanet, 
Beating time to bounding feet, 

When, after daylight's golden set, 

Maids and youths by moonlight meet, 



SONGS AND BALLADS. 47 

Oh, then, how sweet to move 

Through all that maze of mirth, 
Led by light from eyes we love 

Beyond all eyes on earth. 

Then, the joyous banquet spread 

On the cool and fragrant ground, 
With heav'n's bright sparklers overhead, 

And still brighter sparkling round. 
Oh, then, how sweet to say 

Into some lov'd one's ear, 
Thoughts reserv'd through many a day 

To be thus whisper'd here. 

When the dance and feast are done, 

Arm in arm as home we stray, 
How sweet to see the dawning sun 

O'er her cheek's warm blushes play ! 
Then, too, the farewell kiss — 

The words, whose parting tone 
Lingers still in dreams of bliss, 

That haunt young hearts alone. 



LOVE IS A HUNTEK-BOY. 

(LANGUEDOCIAN AIR.) 

Love is a hunter-boy, 

Who makes young hearts his prey 
And, in his nets of joy, 

Ensnares them night and day. 



48 SONGS AND BALLADS. 

In vain conceal'd they lie — 
Love tracks them every where 

In vain aloft they fly — 

Love shoots them flying there. 

But 'tis his joy most sweet, 

At early dawn to trace 
The print of Beauty's feet, 

And give the trembler chase. 
And if, through virgin snow, 

He tracks her footsteps fair, 
How sweet for Love to know 

None went before him there. 



COME, CHASE THAT STARTING TEAR AWAY. 

(FRENCH AIR.) 

Come, chase that starting tear away, 

Ere mine to meet it springs ; 
To-night, at least, to-night be gay, 

Whate'er to-morrow brings. 
Like sun-set gleams, that linger late 

"When all is dark'ning fast, 
Are hours like these we snatch from Fate — 

The brightest, and the last. 

Then, chase that starting tear, &c. 

To gild the deep'ning gloom, if Heaven 

But one bright hour allow, 
Oh, think that one bright hour is given, 

In all its splendour, now. 



SONGS AND BALLADS. 49 

Let's live it out — then sink in night, 

Like waves that from the shore 
One minute swell, are touch'd with light, 

Then lost for evermore ! 

Come, chase that starting tear, &e. 



JOYS OF YOUTH, HOW FLEETING ! 

(PORTUGUESE AIR.) 

Whisp'rings, heard by wakeful maids, 
To whom the night-stars guide us ; 
Stolen walks through moonlight shades, 
With those we love beside us, 
Hearts beating, 
At meeting ; 
Tears starting, 
At parting ; 
Oh, sweet youth, how soon it fades ! 
Sweet joys of youth, how fleeting ! 

Wand'rings far away from home, 

With life all new before us ; 
Greetings warm, when home we come, 

From hearts whose prayers watch'd o'er us. 
Tears starting, 
At parting ; 
Hearts beating, 
At meeting ; 
Oh, sweet youth, how lost on some ! 
To some, how bright and fleeting ! 



50 SONGS AND BALLADS. 

HEAK ME BUT ONCE. 

(FRENCH AIR.) 

Hear me but once, while o'er the grave, 
In which our Love lies cold and dead, 

I count each flatt'ring hope he gave 

Of joys, now lost, and charms now fled. 

"Who could have thought the smile he wore. 

When first we met, would fade away ? 
Or that a chill would e'er come o'er 

Those eyes so bright through many a day ? 
Hear me but once, &c. 



WHEN LOVE WAS A CHILD. 

(SWEDISH AIR.) 

When Love was a child, and went idling round, 
'Mong flowers, the whole summer's day, 

One morn in the valley a bower he found, 
So sweet, it allur'd him to stay. 

O'erhead, from the trees, hung a garland fair, 
A fountain ran darkly beneath ; — 

'Twas Pleasure had hung up the flow'rets there ; 
Love knew it, and jump'd at the wreath. 

But Love didn't know — and, at his weak years, 
What urchin was likely to know ? — 

That Sorrow had made of her own salt tears 
The fountain that murmur'd below. 



SONGS AND BALLADS. 51 

He caught at the wreath — but with too much haste, 

As boys when impatient will do — 
It fell in those waters of briny taste, 

And the flowers were all wet through. 

This garland he now wears night and day ; 

And, though it all sunny appears 
With Pleasure's own light, each leaf, they say, 

Still tastes of the Fountain of Tears. 



SAY, WHAT SHALL BE OUR SPORT TO-DAY 

(SICILIAN AIR.) 

Sat, what shall be our sport to-day ? 

There's nothing on earth, in sea, or air, 
Too bright, too high, too wild, too gay, 

For spirits like mine to dare ! 
'Tis like the returning bloom 

Of those days, alas, gone by, 
When I lov'd, each hour — I scarce knew whom- 

And was bless'd — I scarce knew why. 

Ay — those were days when life had wings. 

And flew, oh, flew so wild a height, 
That, like the lark which sunward springs, 

'Twas giddy with too much light. 
And, though of some plumes bereft, 

With that sun, too, nearly set, 
I've enough of light and wing still left 

For a few gay soarings yet. 



52 SONGS AND BALLADS. 



BRIGHT BE THY DREAMS. 
(welsh air.) 

Bright be thy dreams — may all thy weeping 
Turn into smiles while thou art sleeping. 
May those by death or seas remov'd, 
The friends, who in thy spring-time knew thee, 

All, thou hast ever priz'd or lov'd, 
In dreams come smiling to thee ! 

There may the child, wdiose love lay deepest, 
Dearest of all, come while thou sleepest ; 
Still as she was — no charm forgot — 
No lustre, lost that life had given ; 

Or, if chang'd, but chang'd to what 
Thou'lt find her yet in Heaven ! 



GO, THEN— 'TIS VAIN. 

(SICILIAN AIR.) 

Go, then — 'tis vain to hover 

Thus round a hope that's dead ; 
At length my dream is over ; 

'Twas sweet — 'twas false — 'tis fled ! 
Farewell ! since nought it moves thee, 

Such truth as mine to see — 
Some one, who far less loves thee, 

Perhaps more bless'd will be. 



SONGS AND BALLADS. 53 

Farewell, sweet eyes, whose brightness 

New life around me shed ; 
Farewell, false heart, whose lightness 

Now leaves me death instead. 
Go, now, those charms surrender 

To some new lover's sigh — 
One who, though far less tender 

May be more bless'd than I. 



THE CRYSTAL-HUNTERS. 

(SWISS AIE.) 

O'er mountains bright 

With snow and light, 
We Crystal-Hunters speed along ; 

While rocks and caves, 

And icy waves, 
Each instant echo to our song ; 
And, when we meet with store of gems, 
We grudge not kings their diadems. 

O'er mountains bright 

With snow and light, 
We Crystal- Hunters speed along ; 

While grots and caves, 

And icy waves, 
Each instant echo to our song. 

E 3 



54 SONGS AND BALLADS. 

Not half so oft the lover dreams 
Of sparkles from his lady's eyes, 

As we of those refreshing gleams 

That tell where deep the crystal lies ; 

Though, next to crystal, we too grant, 

That ladies' eyes may most enchant. 
O'er mountains bright, &c. 

Sometimes, when on the Alpine rose 

The golden sunset leaves its ray, 
So like a gem the flow'ret glows, 

We thither bend our headlong way ; 
And, though we find no treasure there, 
We bless the rose that shines so fair. 
O'er mountains bright 
With snow and light, 
We Crystal-Hunters speed along ; 
While rocks and caves, 
And icy waves, 
Each instant echo to our song. 



KOW GENTLY HEEE. 

(VENETIAN AIR.) 

Row gently here, 

My gondolier, 
So softly wake the tide, 

That not an ear, 

On earth, may hear, 
But hers to whom we glide. 



SONGS AND BALLADS. 55 

Had Heaven but tongues to speak, as well 

As starry eyes to see, 
Oh, think what tales 'twould have to tell 

Of wandering youths like me ! 

Now rest thee here, 
My gondolier ; 
Hush, hush, for up I go, 
To climb yon light 
Balcony's height, 
While thou keep'st watch below. 
Ah ! did we take for Heaven above 

But half such pains as we 
Take, day and night, for woman's love, 
What Angels we should be ! 



OH, DAYS OF YOUTH. 

(FRENCH AIR.) 

Oh, days of youth and joy, long clouded, 

Why thus for ever haunt my view ? 
When in the grave your light lay shrouded, 

Why did not Memory die there too ? 
Vainly doth Hope her strain now sing me, 

Telling of joys that yet remain — 
No, never more can this life bring me 

One joy that equals youth's sweet pain. 



56 SONGS AND BALLADS. 

Dim lies the way to death before me, 

Cold winds of Time blow round my brow ; 
Sunshine of youth ! that once fell o'er me, 

Where is your warmth, your glory now ? 
'Tis not that then no pain could sting me ; 

'Tis not that now no joys remain ; 
Oh, 'tis that life no more can bring me 

One joy so sweet as that worst pain. 



WHEN FIRST THAT SMILE. 

(VENETIAN AIR.) 

When first that smile, like sunshine, bless'd my 
sight, 

Oh what a vision then came o'er me ! 
Long years of love, of calm and pure delight, 

Seem'd in that smile to pass before me. 
Ne'er did the peasant dream of summer skies, 

Of golden fruit, and harvest springing, 
With fonder hope than I of those sweet eyes, 

And of the joy their light was bringing. 

Where now are all those fondly promis'd hours ? 

Ah! woman's faith is like her brightness — 
Fading as fast as rainbows, or day-flowers, 

Or aught that's known for grace and lightness. 
Short as the Persian's prayer, at close of day, 

Should be each vow of Love's repeating ; 
Quick let him worship Beauty's precious ray — 

Even while he kneels, that ray is fleeting ! 



SONGS AND BALLADS. 57 

PEACE TO THE SLUMB'REES ! 

(CATALONIAN AIR.) 

Peace to the slumb'rers ! 

They lie on the battle-plain, 
With no shroud to cover them ; 

The dew and the summer rain 
Are all that weep over them. 

Peace to the slumb'rers ! 

Vain was their brav'ry ! — 

The fallen oak lies where it lay- 
Across the wintry river ; 

But brave hearts, once swept away, 
Are gone, alas ! for ever. 

Vain was their brav'ry ! 

Woe to the conq'ror ! 

Our limbs shall lie as cold as theirs 
Of whom his sword bereft us, 

Ere we forget the deep arrears 
Of vengeance they have left us ! 
Woe to the conq'ror ! 



58 SONGS AND BALLADS. 

WHEN THOU SHALT WANDER 

(SICILIAN AIR.) 

When thou shalt wander by that sweet light 
We used to gaze on so many an eve, 

When love was new and hope was bright, 
Ere I could doubt or thou deceive — 

Oh, then, rememb'ring how swift went by 

Those hours of transport, even thou mayst sig 

Yes, proud one ! even thy heart may own 
That love like ours was far too sweet 

To be, like summer garments, thrown 
Aside, when pass'd the summer's heat ; 

And wish in vain to know again 

Such days, such nights, as bless'd thee then. 



WHO'LL BUY MY LOVE-KNOTS? 

(PORTUGUESE AIR.) 

Hymen, late, his love-knots selling, 
Call'd at many a maiden's dwelling, 
None could doubt, who saw or knew them, 
Hymen's call was welcome to them. 

" Who'll buy my love-knots ? 

" Who'll buy my love-knots ? " 
Soon as that sweet cry resounded, 
How his baskets were surrounded ! 



SONGS AND BALLADS. 59 

Maids, who now first dreamt of trying 
These gay knots of Hymen's tying ; 
Dames, who long had sat to watch him 
Passing by, but ne'er could catch him ; — 

" Who'll buy my love-knots ? 

" Who'll buy my love-knots?" — 
All at that sweet cry assembled ; 
Some laugh'd, some blush'd, and some trembled. 

" Here are knots," said Hymen, taking 
Some loose flowers, " of Love's own making ; 
"Here are gold ones — you may trust 'em" — 
(These, of course, found ready custom). 

" Come, buy my love-knots ! 

" Come, buy my love knots ! 
" Some are labell'd ' Knots to tie men — 
" Love the maker — Bought of Hymen.'" 

Scarce their bargains were completed, 
When the nymphs all cried, " We're cheated ! 
" See these flowers — they're drooping sadly ; 
"This gold-knot, too, ties but badly — 

" Who'd buy such love-knots ? 

" Who'd buy such love-knots ? 
" Even this tie, with Love's name round it — 
" All a sham — He never bound it." 

Love, who saw the whole proceeding, 
Would have laugh'd, but for good-breeding ; 
While old Hymen, who was used to 
Cries like that these dames gave loose to — 



60 SONGS AND BALLADS. 

" Take back our love-knots ! 

" Take back our love-knots!" 
Coolly said, " There's no returning 
" Wares on Hymen's hands — Good morning 



SEE, THE DAWN FROM HEAVEN. 

(TO AN AIR SUNG AT ROME, ON CHRISTMAS EVE.) 

See, the dawn from Heaven is breaking 

O'er our sight, 
And Earth, from sin awaking, 

Hails the light ! 
See those groups of angels, winging 

From the realms above, 
On their brows, from Eden, bringing 

Wreaths of Hope and Love. 

Hark, their hymns of glory pealing 

Through the air, 
To mortal ears revealing 

Who lies there ! 
In that dwelling, dark and lowly, 

Sleeps the heavenly Son, 
He, whose home's above, — the Holy, 

Ever Holy One ! 



SONGS AND BALLADS. 61 



NETS AND CAGES. 1 

(SWEDISH AIE.) 

Come, listen to my story, while 

Your needle's task you ply ; 
At what I sing some maids will smile, 

While some, perhaps, may sigh. 
Though Love's the theme, and Wisdom blames 

Such florid songs as ours, 
Yet Truth sometimes, like eastern dames, 

Can speak her thoughts by flowers. 
Then listen, maids, come listen, while 

Your needle's task you ply ; 
At what I sing there's some may smile, 

While some, perhaps, will sigh. 

Young Cloe, bent on catching Loves, 

Such nets had learn'd to frame, 
That none, in all our vales and groves, 

E'er caught so much small game : 
But gentle Sue, less giv'n to roam, 

While Cloe's nets were taking 
Such lots of Loves, sat still at home, 

One little Love-cage making. 
Come, listen, maids, &c. 



1 Suggested by the following remark of Swift : — The reason 
why so few marriages are happy, is because young ladies spend their 
time in making nets, not in making cages." 



SOXGS AND BALLADS. 

Much Cloe laugli'd at Susan's task ; 

But mark how things went on : 
These light-caught Loves, ere you could ask 

Their name and age, were gone ! 
So weak poor Cloe's nets were wove, 

That, though she charm'd into them 
New game each hour, the youngest Love 

Was able to break through them. 
Come, listen, maids, &c. 

Meanwhile, young Sue, whose cage was wrought 

Of bars too strong to sever, 
One Love with golden pinions caught, 

And caged him there for ever ; 
Instructing, thereby, all coquettes, 

Whate'er their looks or ages, 
That, though 'tis pleasant weaving Nets, 

'Tis wiser to make Cages. 

Thus, maidens, thus do I beguile 

The task your ringers ply 

May all who hear like Susan smile, 

And not, like Cloe, sigh ! 



WHEN THROUGH THE PIAZETTA. 

(VENETIAN AIE.) 

When through the Piazetta 
Night breathes her cool air, 



SONGS AND BALLADS. 63 

Then, dearest Ninetta, 

I'll come to thee there. 
Beneath thy mask shrouded, 

I'll know thee afar, 
As Love knows, though clouded, 

His own Evening Star. 

In garb, then, resembling 

Some gay gondolier, 
I'll whisper thee, trembling, 

" Our bark, love, is near : 
" Now, now, while there hover 

" Those clouds o'er the moon, 
" 'Twill waft thee safe over 

" Yon silent Lagoon." 



GO, NOW, AND DREAM. 

(SICILIAN? AIR.) 

Go, now, and dream o'er that joy in thy slumber — 
Moments so sweet again ne'er shalt thou number. 
Of Pain's bitter draught the flavour ne'er flies, 
While Pleasure's scarce touches the lip ere it dies. 
Go, then, and dream, &c. 

That moon, which hung o'er your parting, so splendid, 
Often will shine again, bright as she then did - — 
But never more will the beam she saw burn 
In those happy eyes, at your meeting, return. 
Go, then, and dream, &c. 



64 SOXGS AND BALLADS. 



TAKE HENCE THE BOWL. 

(NEAPOLITAN AIR.) 

Take hence the bowl ; — though beaming 

Brightly as bowl e'er shone, 
Oh, it but sets me dreaming 

Of happy days now gone. 
There, in its clear reflection, 

As in a wizard's glass, 
Lost hopes and dead affection. 

Like shades, before me pass. 

Each cup I drain brings hither 

Some scene of bliss gone by ; — 
Bright lips, too bright to wither, 

Warm hearts, too warm to die. 
Till, as the dream comes o'er me 

Of those long vanish'd years, 
Alas, the wine before me 

Seems turning all to tears ! 



FAREWELL, THERESA! 

(VENETIAN ATE.) 

Farewell, Theresa ! yon cloud that over 
Heaven's pale night-star gath'ring we see, 

"Will scarce from that pure orb have pass'd, ere thy lover 
Swift o'er the wide wave shall wander from thee. 



SONGS AND BALLADS. 65 

Long, like that dim cloud, I've hung around thee, 
Dark'ning thy prospects, sadd'ning thy brow ; 

"With gay heart, Theresa, and bright cheek I found thee ; 
Oh, think how chang'd, love, how chang'd art thou 
now ! 

But here I free thee : like one awaking 

From fearful slumber, thou break'st the spell ; 

'Tis over — the moon, too, her bondage is breaking — 
Past are the dark clouds ; Theresa, farewell ! 



HOW OFT, WHEN WATCHING STAES. 

(SAVOYARD AIK.) 

Oft, when the watching stars grow pale, 

And round me sleeps the moonlight scene, 
To hear a flute through yonder vale 

I from my casement lean. 
" Come, come, my love ! " each note then seems to say, 
" Oh, come, my love ! the night wears fast away ! " 
Never to mortal ear 

Could words, though warm they be, 
Speak Passion's language half so clear 
As do those notes to me ! 

Then quick my own light lute I seek, 

And strike the chords with loudest swell ; 

And, though they nought to others speak, 
He knows their language well. 



66 SONGS AND BALLADS. 

" I come, my love ! " each note then seems to say, 
" I come, my love ! — thine, thine, till break of day." 

Oh, weak the power of words, 
The hues of painting dim, 

Compar'd to what those simple chords 



Then say and paint to him 



WHEN THE FIEST SUMMER BEE. 

(GERMAN AIR.) 

When the first summer bee 
O'er the young rose shall hover, 
Then, like that gay rover, 
I'll come to thee. 
He to flowers, I to lips, full of sweets to the brim — 
What a meeting, what a meeting for me and for him! 
When the first summer bee, &c. 

Then, to every bright tree 
In the garden he'll wander ; 
While I, oh much fonder, 
Will stay with thee. 
In search of new sweetness through thousands he'll run. 
While I find the sweetness of thousands in one. 
Then, to every bright tree, &c. 



SONGS AND BALLADS. 67 



THOUGH 'TIS ALL BUT A DREAM. 
(feench air.) 

Though 'tis all but a dream at the best, 
And still, when happiest, soonest o'er, 
Yet, even in a dream, to be bless'd 
Is so sweet, that I ask for no more. 
The bosom that opes 
With earliest hopes 
The soonest finds those hopes untrue; 
As flowers that first 
In spring-time burst 
The earliest wither too ! 

Ay — 'tis all but a dream, &c. 

Though by friendship we oft are deceiv'd, 
And find Love's sunshine soon o'ercast, 
Yet Friendship will still be believ'd, 
And Love trusted on to the last. 
The web 'mong the leaves 
The spider weaves 
Is like the charm Hope hangs o'er men ; 
Though often she sees 
'Tis broke by the breeze, 
She spins the bright tissue again. 
Ay — 'tis all but a dream, &c. 



68 SONGS AND BALLADS. 

WHEN THE WINE-CUP IS SMILING. 

(ITALIAN AIR.) 

"When the wine-cup is smiling before us, 

And we pledge round to hearts that are true, boy, true, 
Then the sky of this life opens o'er us, 

And Heaven gives a glimpse of its blue. 
Talk of Adam in Eden reclining. 

We are better, far better off thus, boy, thus ; 
For him but two bright eyes were shining — 

See, what numbers are sparkling for us ! 

When on one side the grape-juice is dancing, 

While on t'other a blue eye beams, boy, beams, 
Tis enough, 'twixt the wine and the glancing, 

To disturb ev'n a saint from his dreams. 
Yet, though life like a river is flowing, 

I care not how fast it goes on, boy, on ; 
So the grape on its bank is still growing, 

And Love lights the waves as they run. 



WHERE SHALL WE BURY OUR SHAME 

(NEAPOLITAN AIR.) 

Where shall we bury our shame ; 

Where, in what desolate place, 
Hide the last wreck of a name 

Broken and stain'd by disgrace ? 



SONGS AND BALLADS. 69 

Death may dissever the chain, 

Oppression will cease when we're gone ; 

But the dishonour, the stain, 
Die as we may, will live on. 

"Was it for this we sent out 

Liberty's cry from our shore ? 
Was it for this that her shout 

Thrill'd to the world's very core ? 
Thus to live cowards and slaves! — 

Oh, ye free hearts that lie dead, 
Do you not, even in your graves, 

Shudder, as o'er you we tread ? 



NE'ER TALK OE WISDOM'S GLOOMY SCHOOLS. 

(jIAHKATTA AIR.) 

Ne'er talk of Wisdom's gloomy schools ; 

Give me the sage who's able 
To draw his moral thoughts and rules 

From the study of the table ; — 
Who learns how lightly, fleetly pass 

This world and all that's in it, 
From the bumper that but crowns his glass, 

And is gone again next minute ! 

The diamond sleeps within the mine, 

The pearl beneath the water ; 
While Truth, more precious, dwells in wine, 

The grape's own rosy daughter. 

F 3 



70 SONGS AND BALLADS. 

And none can prize her charms like him, 
Oh, none like him obtain her, 

Who thus can, like Leander, swim, 
Through sparkling floods to gain her ! 



HERE SLEEPS THE BARD. 
(highland air.) 

Here sleeps the bard who knew so well 
All the sweet windings of Apollo's shell ; 
Whether its music roll'd like torrents near, 
Or died, like distant streamlets, on the ear. 
Sleep, sleep, mute bard ; alike unheeded now 
The storm and zephyr sweep thy lifeless brow : — 
That storm, whose rush is like thy martial lay ; 
That breeze which, like thy love-song, dies away ! 



DO NOT SAY THAT LIFE IS WANING. 

Do not say that life is waning, 
Or that Hope's sweet day is set ; 

While I've thee and love remaining, 
Life is in th' horizon yet. 

Do not think those charms are flying, 
Though thy roses fade and fall ; 

Beauty hath a grace undying, 
Which in thee survives them all. 






SONGS AND BALLADS. 71 

Not for charms, the newest, brightest, 

That on other cheeks may shine, 
Would I change the least, the slightest, 

That is ling'ring now o'er thine. 



THE GAZELLE. 

Dost thou not hear the silver bell, 
Through yonder lime-trees ringing ? 

'Tis my lady's light gazelle, 

To me her love thoughts bringing, 

All the while that silver bell 
Around his dark neck ringing. 

See, in his mouth he bears a wreath, 
My love hath kiss'd in tying ; 

Oh, what tender thoughts beneath 
Those silent flowers are lying, 

Hid within the mystic wreath, 
My love hath kiss'd in tying ! 

Welcome, dear gazelle, to thee, 

And joy to her, the fairest, 
Who thus hath breath'd her soul to me, 

In every leaf thou bearest ; 
Welcome, dear gazelle, to thee, 

And joy to her, the fairest ! 

Hail, ye living, speaking flowers, 
That breathe of her who bound ye ; 

F 4 



SONGS AND BALLADS. 

Oh, 'twas not in fields or bowers, 
'TVas on her lips she found ye ; 

Yes, ye blushing, speaking flowers, 
'Twas on her lips she found ye. 



NO — LEAVE MY HEART TO REST. 

No — leave my heart to rest, if rest it may, 

When youth, and love, and hope have pass'd away. 

Couldst thou, when summer hours are fled, 

To some poor leaf that's fall'n and dead, 

Bring back the hue it wore, the scent it shed ? 

No — leave this heart to rest, if rest it may, 

When youth, and love, and hope have pass'd away. 

Oh, had I met thee then, when life was bright, 

Thy smile might still have fed its tranquil light ; 

But now thou com'st like sunny skies, 

Too late to cheer the seaman's eyes, 

When wreck'd and lost his bark before him lies! 

No — leave this heart to rest, if rest it may, 

Since youth, and love, and hope, have pass'd away. 



WHERE ARE THE VISIONS ? 

Where are the visions that round me once hover'd, 
" Forms that shed grace from their shadows alone ; 
Looks fresh as light from a star just discover'd, 
" And voices that Music might take for her own ? " 



SONGS AND BALLADS. 73 

Time, while I spoke, with his wings resting o'er me, 
Heard me say, " Where are those visions, oh where ? " 

And pointing his wand to the sunset before me, 
Said, with a voice like the hollow wind, " There." 

Fondly I look'd, when the wizard had spoken, 
And there, mid the dim shining ruins of day, 

Saw, by their light, like a talisman broken, 
The last golden fragments of hope melt away. 



WIND THY HOEN, MY HUNTEE BOY. 

Wind thy horn, my hunter boy, 

And leave thy lute's inglorious sighs ; 

Hunting is the hero's joy, 

Till war his nobler game supplies. 

Hark ! the hound-bells ringing sweet, 

While hunters shout, and the woods repeat, 

Hilli-ho! Hilli-ho! 

Wind again thy cheerful horn, 

Till echo, faint with answ'ring, dies : 

Burn, bright torches, burn till morn, 
And lead us where the wild boar lies. 

Hark ! the cry, " He's found, he's found," 

While hill and valley our shouts resound, 

Hilli-ho! Hilli-ho! 



74: SONGS AND BALLADS. 



Oil, GUARD OUR AFFECTION. 

On, guard our affection, nor e'er let it feel 
The blight that this world o'er the warmest will steal ; 
While the faith of all round us is fading or past, 
Let ours, ever green, keep its bloom to the last. 

Far safer for Love 'tis to wake and to weep, 
As he used in his prime, than go smiling to sleep ; 
For death on his slumber, cold death follows fast, 
AVliile the love that is wakeful lives on to the last. 

And though, as Time gathers his clouds o'er our head, 
A shade somewhat darker o'er life they may spread, 
Transparent, at least, be the shadow they cast, 
So that Love's soften'd light may shine through to the last. 



SLUMBEE, OH SLUMBER. 

•• Slumber, oh slumber ; if sleeping thou mak'st 
" My heart beat so wildly, I'm lost if thou wak'st. 
Thus sung I to a maiden, 

"Who slept one summer's day, 
And, like a flower o'erladen 
With too much sunshine, lay. 
Slumber, oh slumber, &c. 






SONGS AND BALLADS. 7« 

Breathe not, oh breathe not, ye winds, o'er her cheeks 
If mute thus she charm me, I'm lost when she speaks." 
Thus sing I, while awaking, 

She murmurs words that seem 
As if her lips were taking 

Farewell of some sweet dream. 

Breathe not, oh breathe not, &c. 



BRING THE BRIGHT GARLANDS HITHER. 

Bring the bright garlands hither ; 

Ere yet a leaf is dying ; 
If so soon they must wither, 

Ours be their last sweet sighing. 
Hark, that low dismal chime ! 
'Tis the dreary voice of Time. 
Oh, bring beauty, bring roses, 

Bring all that yet is ours ; 
Let life's day, as it closes, 

Shine to the last through flowers. 

Haste, ere the bowl's declining, 

Drink of it now or never ; 
Now, while Beauty is shining, 

Love or she's lost for ever. 
Hark ! again that dull chime, 
'Tis the dreary voice of Time. 



76 SONGS AND BALLADS. 

Oh, if life be a torrent, 
Down to oblivion going, 

Like this cup be its current, 

Bright to the last drop flowing! 



IF IN LOVING, SINGING. 

If in loving, singing, night and day 

"We could trifle merrily life away, 

Like atoms dancing in the beam. 

Like day-flies skimming o'er the stream, 

Or summer blossoms, born to sigh 

Their sweetness out, and die — 

How brilliant, thoughtless, side by side, 

Thou and I could make our minutes glide! 

No atoms ever glanc'd so bright. 

No day-flies ever danced so light, 

Nor summer blossoms mix'd their sigh, 

So close, as thou and I ! 



THOU LOV'ST NO MORE. 

Too plain, alas, my doom is spoken, 
Nor canst thou veil the sad truth o'er ; 

Thy heart is chang'd, thy vow is broken, 
Thou lov'st no more — thou lov'st no more. 



SONGS AND BALLADS. 77 

Though kindly still those eyes behold me. 

The smile is gone, which once they wore ; 
Though fondly still those arms enfold me, 

'Tis not the same — thou lov'st no more. 

Too long my dream of bliss believing, 
I've thought thee all thou wert before ; 

But now — alas ! there's no deceiving, 
'Tis all too plain, thou lov'st no more. 

Oh, thou as soon the dead couldst waken, 

As lost affection's life restore, 
Give peace to her that is forsaken, 

Or bring back him who loves no more. 



WHEN ABROAD IN THE WOELD. 

When abroad in the world thou appearest, 
And the young and the lovely are there, 
To my heart while of all thou'rt the dearest, 
To my eyes thou'rt of all the most fair. 
They pass, one by one, 

Like waves of the sea. 
That say to the Sun, 

" See, how fair we can be." 
But where's the light like thine, 
In sun or shade to shine ? 
No, no, 'mong them all there is nothing like thee, 
Nothing like thee. 



78 SONGS AND BALLADS. 

Oft, of old, without farewell or warning, 

Beauty's self used to steal from the skies ; 
Fling a mist round her head, some fine morning, 
And post down to earth in disguise ; 
But no matter what shroud 

Around her might be, 
Men peep'd through the cloud, 
And whisper'd, " 'Tis She." 
So thou, where thousands are, 
Shin'st forth the only star, — 
Yes, yes, 'mong them all there is nothing like thee 
Nothing like thee. 



KEEP THOSE EYES STILL PURELY MINE. 

Keep those eyes still purely mine, 

Though far off I be : 
"When on others most they shine, 

Then think they're turn'd on me. 

Should those lips as now respond 

To sweet minstrelsy, 
When their accents seem most fond, 

Then think they're breathed for me. 

Make what hearts thou wilt thy own, 

K when all on thee 
Fix their charmed thoughts alone, 

Thou think'st the while on me. 



SONGS AND BALLADS. 79 

HOPE COMES AGAIN. 
Hope comes again, to this heart long a stranger, 

Once more she sings me her flatt'ring strain ; 
But hush, gentle syren — for, ah, there's less danger 

In still suff'ring on, than in hoping again. 

Long, long in sorrow, too deep for repining, 
Gloomy, but tranquil, this bosom hath lain ; 

And joy coming now, like a sudden light shining 

O'er eyelids long darken'd, would bring me but pain. 

Fly then, ye visions, that Hope would shed o'er me ; 

Lost to the future, my sole chance of rest 
Now lies not in dreaming of bliss that's before me, 

But, ah — in forgetting how once I was blest. 



O SAY, THOU BEST AND BEIGHTEST. 

O say, thou best and brightest, 

My first love and my last, 
When he, whom now thou slightest, 

From life's dark scene hath past, 
Will kinder thoughts then move thee ? 

Will pity wake one thrill 
For him who liv'd to love thee, 

And dying, lov'd thee still ? 

If when, that hour recalling 
From which he dates his woes, 

Thou feel'st a tear-drop falling, 
Ah, blush not while it flows : 



80 SONGS AND BALLADS. 

But, all the past forgiving, 
Bend gently o'er his shrine, 

And say, " This heart, when living, 
" "With all its faults, was mine." 



WHEN NIGHT BKINGS THE HOUR. 

WHEN night brings the hour 

Of starlight and joy, 
There conies to my bower 

A fairy-wing'd boy ; 
"With eyes so bright, 

80 full of wild arts, 
Like nets of light, 

To tangle young hearts ; 
With lips, in whose keeping 

Love's secret may dwell, 
Like Zephyr asleep in 

Some rosy sea-shell. 
Guess who he is, 

Name but his name, 
And his best kiss, 

For reward, you may claim. 

"Where'er o'er the ground 

He prints his light feet, 
The flow'rs there are found 

Most shinin? and sweet : 



SONGS AND BALLADS. 

His looks, as soft 

As lightning in May, 
Though dangerous oft, 

Ne'er wound but in play : 
And oh, when his wings 

Have brush'd o'er my lyre, 
You'd fancy its strings 

Were turning to fire. 
Guess who he is, 

Name but his name, 
And his best kiss, 

For reward, you may claim. 



LIKE ONE WHO, DOOM'D. 

Like one who, doom'd o'er distant seas 

His weary path to measure, 
When home at length, with fav'ring breeze, 

He brings the far-sought treasure ; 

His ship, in sight of shore, goes down, 
That shore to which he hasted ; 

And all the wealth he thought his own 
Is o'er the waters wasted. 

Like him, this heart, thro' many a track 

Of toil and sorrow staying, 
One hope alone brought fondly back, 

Its toil and grief repaying. 



82 SONGS AND BALLADS. 

Like him, alas, I see that ray 
Of hope before me perish, 

And one dark minute sweep away 
What years were given to cherish. 



FEAR NOT THAT, WIIXLE AROUND TIIEE. 
Fear not that, while around thee 

Life's varied blessings pour, 
One sigh of hers shall wound thee, 

Whose smile thou seek'st no more. 
No, dead and cold for ever 

Let our past love remain ; 
Once gone, its spirit never 

Shall haunt thy rest again. 

May the new ties that bind thee 

Far sweeter, happier prove, 
Nor e'er of me remind thee, 

But by their truth and love. 
Think how, asleep or waking, 

Thy image haunts me yet ; 
But, how this heart is breaking 

For thy own peace forget. 



WHEN LOVE IS KIND. 
When Love is kind, 
Cheerful and free, 
Love's sure to find 
'Welcome from me. 



SONGS AND BALLADS. 



Heartache or pang, 

Tears, and such things — 

Love may go hang ! 

If Love can sigh 

For one alone, fc 
Well pleas'd am £ 

To be that one. 

But should I see 
Love giv'n to rove, 

To two or three, 

Then — good-by, Love ! 

Love must, in short, 
Keep fond and true, 

Through good report, 
And evil too. 

Else, here I swear, 
Young Love may go, 

For aught I care — 
To Jericho. 



THE GARLAND I SEND THEE. 

The Garland I send thee was cull'd from those bowers 
Where thou and I wander'd in long vanish'd hours ; 
Not a leaf or a blossom its bloom here displays, 
But bears some remembrance of those happy days. 



3 1 SONGS AND BALLADS. 

The roses were gathered by that garden gate, 

Where our meetings, though early, seem'd always too 

late ; 
Where lingering full oft through a summer-night's moon, 
Our partings, though late, appear'd always too soon. 

I -t were all eull'd from the banks of that glade, 

Where, watching the sunset, so often we've stray'd, 
And mouru'd, as the time went, that Love had no power 
To bind in his chain even one happy hour. 



HOW SHALL I WOO? 
If I speak to thee in Friendship's name, 

Thou think'st I speak too coldly; 
If I mention Love's devoted flame, 

Thou say'st I speak too boldly. 
Between these two unequal fires, 

"Why doom me thus to hover ? 
I'm a friend, if such thy heart requires, 

If more thou seek'st, a lover. 
Which shall it be ? How shall I woo ? 
Fair one, choose between the two. 

Tho' the wings of Love will brightly play, 

When first he comes to woo thee, 
There's a chance that he may fly away 

As fast as he flies to thee. 
While Friendship, though on foot she come, 

No flights of fancy trying, 
WiH, therefore, oft be found at home, 

When Love abroad is flying. 



SONGS AND BALLADS. 85 

"Which shall it be ? How shall I woo ? 
Dear one, choose between the two. 

If neither feeling suits thy heart, 

Let's see, to please thee, whether 
We may not learn some precious art 

To mix their charms together ; 
One feeling, still more sweet, to form 

From two so sweet already — 
A friendship that like love is warm, 

A love like friendship steady. 
Thus let it be, thus let me woo, 
Dearest, thus we'll join the two. 



SPRING AND AUTUMN. 

Ev'ry season hath its pleasures ; 

Spring may boast her flow'ry prime, 
Yet the vineyard's ruby treasures 

Brighten Autumn's sob'rer time. 
So Life's year begins and closes ; 

Days, though short'ning, still can shine : 
What though youth gave love and roses, 

Age still leaves us friends and wine. 

Phillis, when she might have caught me, 
All the Spring look'd coy and shy, 

Yet herself in Autumn sought me, 
When the flowers were all gone by. 

G 3 



SONGS AND BALLADS. 

Ah, too late ; — she found her lover 
Calm and free beneath his vine, 

Drinking to the Spring-time over 
In his best autumnal wine. 

Thus may we, as years are flying, 

To their flight our pleasures suit, 
Nor regret the blossoms dying, 

While we still may taste the fruit. 
Oh, while days like this are ours, 

Where's the lip that dares repine ? 
Spring may take our loves and flow'rs, 

So Autumn leaves us friends and wine. 



LOVE ALONE. 

If thou wouldst have thy charms enchant our eyes, 
First win our hearts, for there thy empire lies : 
Beauty in vain would mount a heartless throne, 
Her Right Divine is given by Love alone. 

What would the rose with all her pride be worth, 
Were there no sun to call her brightness forth ? 
Maidens, unlov'd, like flowers in darkness thrown, 
Wait but that light, which comes from Love alone. 

Fair as thy charms in yonder glass appear, 
Trust not their bloom, they'll fade from year to year : 
Would'st thou they still should shine as first they shone, 
Go, fix thy mirror in Love's eyes alone. 



SONGS AND BALLADS. 87 



WHO'LL BUY?— 'TIS FOLLY'S SHOP, WHO'LL BUY? 

Who'll, buy? — 'tis Folly's shop, who'll buy? — 

We've toys to suit all ranks and ages ; 
Besides our usual fool's supply, 

We've lots of playthings, too, for sages. 
For reasoners, here's a juggler's cup, 

That fullest seems when nothing's in it ; 
And nine-pins set, like systems, up, 

To be knock'd down the following minute. 
Who'll buy? — 'tis Folly's shop, who'll buy? 

Gay caps we here of foolscap make, 

For bards to wear in dog-day weather; 
Or bards the bells alone may take, 

And leave to wits the cap and feather. 
Tetotums we've for patriots got, 

Who court the mob with antics humble ; 
Like theirs the patriot's dizzy lot, 

A glorious spin, and then — a tumble, 

Who'll buy, &c. &c. 

Here, wealthy misers to inter, 

We've shrouds of neat post-obit paper; 
While, for their heirs, we've quicksilver, 

That, fast as they can wish, will caper. 
For aldermen we've dials true, 

That tell no hour but that of dinner ; 
For courtly parsons sermons new, 

That suit alike both saint and sinner. 

Who'll buy, &c. &c. 

G 4 



88 SONGS AND BALLADS. 

No time we've now to name our terms, 

But, whatsoe'er the whims that seize you, 
This oldest of all mortal firms, 

Folly and Co., will try to please you. 
Or, should you wish a darker hue 

Of goods than we can recommend you, 
Why then, (as we with lawyers do) 

To Knavery's shop next door we'll send you. 
Who'll buy, &c. &c 



AS O'ER HER LOOM TILE LESBIAN MAID. 
As o'er her loom the Lesbian Maid 

In love-sick languor hung her head, 
Unknowing where her fingers stray'd, 

She weeping turn'd away, and said, 
" Oh, my sweet Mother — 'tis in vain — 

" I cannot weave, as once I wove — 
" So wilder'd is my heart and brain 

" With thinking of that youth I love I" 1 

Again the web she tried to trace, 

But tears fell o'er each tangled thread; 
While, looking in her mother's face, 

Who watchful o'er her lean'd, she said, 
" Oh, my sweet Mother — 'tis in vain — 

" I cannot weave, as once I wove — 
" So wilder'd is my heart and brain 

" With thinking of that youth I love !" 

1 I have attempted, in these four lines, to give some idea of that 
beautiful fragment of Sappho, beginning TKvKzla narrip, which re- 
presents so truly (as Warton remarks) " the languor and listlessness 
of a person deeply in love." 



SONGS AND BALLADS. 89 



WHEN THE BALAIKA. 1 

"When the Balaika 

Is heard o'er the sea, 
I'll dance the Romaika 

By moonlight with thee. 
If waves then, advancing, 

Should steal on our play, 
Thy white feet, in dancing, 

Shall chase them away. 2 
When the Balaika 

Is heard o'er the sea, 
Thou'lt dance the Romaika, 

My own love, with me. 

Then, at the closing 

Of each merry lay, 
How sweet 'tis, reposing, 

Beneath the night ray ! 
Or if, declining, 

The moon leave the skies, 
We'll talk by the shining 

Of each other's eyes. 

Oh then, how featly 
The dance we'll renew, 



1 This word is defrauded here, I suspect, of a syllable ; Dr. Clarke, 
if I recollect right, makes it " Balalaika." 

2 " I saw above thirty parties engaged in dancing the Romaika upon 
the sand ; in some of those groups, the girl who led them chased the 
retreating wave." — Douglas on the Modern Greeks. 



90 SONGS AND BALLADS. 

Treading so fleetly 

Its light mazes through : l 
Till stars, looking o'er us 

From heaven's high bow'rs, 
Would change their bright chorus 

For one dance of ours. 
When the Balaika 

Is heard o'er the sea, 
Thou'lt dance the llomaika, 

My own love, with me. 



AS BY TIDE SHORE, AT BREAK OF DAY. 

As by the shore, at break of day, 
A vanquish'd Chief expiring lay, 
Upon the sands, with broken sword, 

He trac'd his farewell to the Free ; 
And, there, the last unfinish'd word 

He dying wrote was " Liberty ! " 

At night a Sea-bird shriek'd the knell 
Of him who thus for Freedom fell ; 

■ « In dancing the Romaika (says Mr. Douglas) they hegin in slow 
and solemn step till they have gained the time, hut hy degrees the air 
hecomes more sprightly; the conductress of the dance sometimes 
setting to her partner, sometimes darting before the rest, and leading 
them "through the most rapid evolutions; sometimes crossing under 
the hands, which are held up to let her pass, and giving as much 
liveliness and intricacy as she can to the figures, into which she 
conducts her companions, while their business is to follow her in all 
her movements, without breaking the chain, or losing the measure. 



SONGS AND BALLADS. 91 

The words lie wrote, ere evening came, 
"Were covered by the sounding sea ; — 

So pass away the cause and name 
Of him who dies for Liberty ! 



I SAW, EROM YONDER SILENT CAVE. 

I saw, from yonder silent cave, 

Two Fountains running, side by side, 
The one was Mem'ry's limpid wave, 

The other cold Oblivion's tide. 
" Oh Love ! " said I, in thoughtless mood, 

As deep I drank of Lethe's stream, 
" Be all my sorrows in this flood 

" Forgotten like a vanish'd dream ! " 

But who could bear that gloomy blank, 

"Where joy was lost as well as pain ? 
Quickly of Mem'ry's fount I drank, 

And brought the past all back again ; 
And said, " Oh Love ! whate'er my lot, 

" Still let this soul to thee be true — 
" Rather than have one bliss forgot, 

" Be all my pains remember'd too S" 



OH, MEMORY, HOW COLDLY. 
Oh, Memory, how coldly 

Thou paintest joy gone by : 
Like rainbows, thy pictures 

But mournfully shine and die. 



92 SONGS AND BALLADS. 

Or, if some tints thou keepest, 
That former days recall, 

As o'er each line thou Aveepest, 
Thy tears efface them all. 

But, Memory, too truly 

Thou paintest grief that's past ; 
Joy's colours are fleeting, 

But those of Sorrow last. 
And, while thou bring'st before us 

Dark pictures of past ill, 
Life's evening, closing o'er us, 

But makes them darker still. 



HERE, WHILE THE MOONLIGHT DIM. 

Here, while the moonlight dim 
Falls on that mossy brim, 
Sing we our Fountain Hymn, 

Maidens of Zea ! 
Nothing but Music's strain, 
"When Lovers part in pain, 
Soothes, till they meet again, 

Oh, Maids of Zea ! 

Bright Fount, so clear and cold, 
Round which the nymphs of old 
Stood, with their locks of gold, 
Fountain of Zea ! 



SONGS AND BALLADS. 93 

Not even Castaly, 
Fam'd though its streamlet be, 
Murmurs or shines like thee, 
Oh, Fount of Zea ! 

Thou, while our hymn we sing, 
Thy silver voice shall bring, 
Answering, answering, 

Sweet Fount of Zea ! 
For, of all rills that run, 
Sparkling by moon or sun, 
Thou art the fairest one, 

Bright Fount of Zea ! 

Now, by those stars that glance 
Over heaven's still expanse, 
"Weave we our mirthful dance, 

Daughters of Zea ! 
Such as, in former days, 
Danc'd they, by Dian's rays, 
Where the Eurotas strays, l 

Oh, Maids of Zea ! 

But when to merry feet 
Hearts with no echo beat, 
Say, can the dance be sweet ? 
Maidens of Zea ! 



Qualis in Eurotre ripis, aut per juga Cynthi 
Exercet Diana choros." — Virgil. 



94 SONGS AND BALLADS. 

No, nought but Music's strain, 
"When lovers part in pain, 
Soothes, till they meet again, 
Oh, Maids of Zea ! 



WHEN EVENING SHADES ARE FALLING 

When evening shades are falling 

O'er Ocean's sunn}' sleep, 
To pilgrims' hearts recalling 

Their home beyond the deep ; 
"When, rest o'er all descending, 

The shores with gladness smile, 
And lutes, their echoes blending, 

Are heard from isle to isle, 
Then, Mary; Star of the Sea, 1 
We pray, we pray, to thee! 

The noon-day tempest over, 

Now Ocean toils no more, 
And wings of halcyons hover, 

Where all w r as strife before. 
Oh thus may life, in closing 

Its short tempestuous day, 
Beneath heaven's smile reposing, 

Shine all its storms away : 
Thus, Mary, Star of the Sea, 
We pray, we pray, to thee ! 

1 One of the titles of the Virgin : — " Maria illuminatrix, give Stella 
Maris." — Isidor. 



SONGS AND BALLADS. 95 

AS ONCE A GRECIAN MAIDEN WOVE. 

As once a Grecian maiden wove 

Her garland mid the summer bow'rs, 
There stood a youth, with eyes of love, 

To watch her while she wreath'd the flow'rs. 
The youth was skill'd in Painting's art, 

But ne'er had studied woman's brow, 
Nor knew what magic hues the heart 

Can shed o'er Nature's charms, till now. 

CHORUS. 

Blest be Love, to whom we owe 
All that's fair and bright below. 

His hand had pictur'd many a rose, 

And sketch'd the rays that light the brook ; 
But what were these, or what were those, 

To woman's blush, to woman's look ? 
" Oh, if such magic pow'r there be, 

" This, this," he cried, " is all my prayer, 
" To paint that living light I see, 

" And fix the soul that sparkles there." 

His prayer, as soon as breath'd was heard ; 

His pallet, touch'd by Love, grew warm, 
And Painting saw her hues transferr'd 

From lifeless flow'rs to woman's form. 
Still as from tint to tint he stole, 

The fair design shone out the more, 
And there was now a life, a soul, 

Where only colours glow'd before. 



96 SONGS AND BALLADS. 

Then first carnations learnt to speak, 

And lilies into life were brought ; 
"While, mantling on the maiden's cheek, 

Young roses kindled into thought. 
Then hyacinths their darkest dyes 

Upon the locks of Beauty threw ; 
And violets, transform'd to eyes, 

Inshrin'd a soul within their blue. 

CHORUS. 

Blest be Love, to whom we owe 
All that's fair and bright below. 
Song was cold and Painting dim 
Till song and Painting learn'd from him. 



UP AND MARCH! THE TIMBREL'S SOUND 

Up and march ! the timbrel's sound 
Wakes the slumb'ring camp around ; 
Fleet thy hour of rest hath gone, 
Armed sleeper, up, and on ! 
Long and weary is our way 
O'er the burning sands to-day ; 
But to pilgrim's homeward feet 
Ev'n the desert path is sweet. 

"When we lie at dead of night. 
Looking up to heaven's light, 



SONGS AND BALLADS. 97 

Hearing but the watchman's tone 
Faintly chaunting " God is one/' 1 
Oh what thoughts then o'er us come 
Of our distant village home, 
Where that chaunt, when ev'ning sets, 
Sounds from all the minarets. 

Cheer thee ! — soon shall signal lights, 
Kindling o'er the Eed Sea heights, 
Kindling quick from man to man, 
Hail our coming caravan : 2 
Think what bliss that hour will be ! 
Looks of home again to see, 
And our names again to hear 
Murmur'd out by voices dear. 



NO LIFE IS LIKE THE MOUNTAINEER'S. 

No life is like the mountaineer's, 

His home is near the sky, 
Where, thron'd above this world, he hears 

Its strife at distance die. 
Or, should the sound of hostile drum 
Proclaim below, "We come — we come," 

1 The watchmen, in the camp of the caravans, go their rounds, 
crying one after another, " God is one," &c. &c. 

2 " It was customary," says Irwin, " to light up fires on the moun- 
tains, within view of Cosseir, to give notice of the approach of the 
caravans that came from the Nile." 



98 SONGS AND BALLADS. 

Each crag that tow'rs in air 
Gives answer, " Come who dare ! " 
While, like bees, from dell and dingle, 
Swift the swarming warriors mingle, 
And their cry " Hurra!" will be, 
" Hurra, to victory ! " 

Then, when battle's hour is over, 

See the happy mountain lover, 

With the nymph, who'll soon be bride, 

Seated blushing by his side, — 

Every shadow of his lot 

In her sunny smile forgot. 

Oh, no life is like the mountaineer's, 

His home is near the sky, 
Where, thron'd above this world, he hear,' 

Its strife at distance die. 
Nor only thus through summer suns 
His blithe existence cheerly runs — 

Even winter, bleak and dim, 

Brings joyous hours to him ; 
When, his rifle behind him flinging, 
He watches the roe-buck springing, 
And away, o'er the hills away 
Re-echoes his glad "hurra." 

Then how blest, when night is closing, 
By the kindled hearth reposing, 
To his rebeck's drowsy song, 
He beguiles the hour along : 



SONGS AND BALLADS. 9 

Or, provok'd by merry glances, 
To a brisker movement dances, 
Till, weary at last, in slumber's chain, 
He dreams o'er chase and dance again, 
Dreams, dreams them o'er again. 

THOU AET NOT DEAD — THOU AET NOT DEAD! 1 

Thou art not dead — thou art not dead! 

No, dearest Harmodius, no. 
Thy soul, to realms above us fled, 
Though, like a star, it dwells o'er head, 

Still lights this world below. 
Thou art not dead — thou art not dead ! 

No, dearest Harmodius, no. 

Through isles of light, where heroes tread 

And flow'rs ethereal blow, 
Thy god-like Spirit now is led, 
Thy lip, with life ambrosial fed, 

Forgets all taste of woe. 
Thou art not dead — thou art not dead! 

No, dearest Harmodius, no. 

The myrtle, round that falchion spread 

"Which struck the immortal blow, 
Throughout all time, with leaves unshed — 
The patriot's hope, the tyrant's dread — 

Round Freedom's shrine shall grow. 
Thou art not dead — thou art not dead ! 

No, dearest Harmodius, no. 

1 'biXraff 'Apfj-oSi' ovirai TtQvtiKas. 



100 SONGS AND BALLADS. 

Where hearts like thine have broke or bled, 
Though quench'd the vital glow, 

Their niein'ry lights a flame, instead, 

Which, ev'n from out the narrow bed 
Of death its beams shall throw. 

Thou art not dead — thou art not dead! 
No, dearest Harmodius, no. 

Thy name, by myriads sung and said, 

From age to age shall go, 
Long as the oak and ivy wed, 
As bees shall haunt Hymettus' head, 

Or Helle's waters flow. 
Thou art not dead — thou art not dead ! 

No, dearest Harmodius, no. 



CALM AS, BENEATH ITS MOTHER'S EYES. 

Calm as, beneath its mother's eyes, 

In sleep the smiling infant lies, 

So, watck'd by all the stars of night, 

Yon landscape sleeps in light, 

And while the night-breeze dies away, 

Like relics of some faded strain, 
Lov'd voices, lost for many a day, 

Seem whisp'ring round again. 
Oh youth ! oh Love ! ye dreams, that shed 
Such glory once — where are ye fled? 

Pure ray of-light that, down the sky, 
Art pointing, like an angel's wand, 



SONGS AND BALLADS. 101 

As if to guide to realms that lie 

In that bright sea beyond : 
Who knows but, in some brighter deep 

Than ev'n that tranquil, moon-lit main, 
Some land may lie, where those who weep 

Shall wake to smile again ! 



AS LOVE, ONE SUMMER EVE, WAS STRAYING. 

As Love, one summer eve, was straying, 

Who should he see, at that soft hour, 
But young Minerva, gravely playing 

Her flute within an olive bow'r. 
I need not say, 'tis Love's opinion 

That, grave or merry, good or ill, 
The sex all bow to his dominion, 

As woman will be woman still. 

Though seldom yet the boy hath giv'n 

To learned dames his smiles or sighs, 
So handsome Pallas look'd, that ev'n, 

Love quite forgot the maid was wise. 
Besides, a youth of his discerning 

Knew well that, by a shady rill, 
At sunset hour, whate'er her learning, 

A woman will be woman still. 

Her flute he prais'd in terms extatic, — 
Wishing it dumb, nor car'd how soon , — 

For Wisdom's notes, howe'er chromatic, 
To Love seem always out of tune. 

H 3 



102 SONGS AND BALLADS. 

But long as lie found face to flatter, 

The nymph found breath to shake and thrill ; 

As, weak or wise — it doesn't matter — 
"Woman, at heart, is woman still. 

Love chang'd his plan, with warmth exclaiming, 

" How rosy was her lip's soft dye ;" 
And much that flute, the flatt'rer, blaming, 

For twisting lips so sweet awry. 
The nymph look'd down, beheld her features 

Reflected in the passing rill, 
And started, shock'd — for, ah, ye creatures! 

Ev'n when divine, you're women still. 

Quick from the lips it made so odious, 

That graceless flute the goddess took, 
And, while yet fill'd with breath melodious, 

Flung it into the glassy brook ; 
"Where, as its vocal life was fleeting 

Adown the current, faint and shrill, 
'Twas heard in plaintive tone repeating, 

" Woman, alas, vain woman still ! " 



WHO COMES SO GRACEFULLY. 

" Who comes so gracefully 

" Gliding along, 
" While the blue rivulet 

" Sleeps to her song ; 



SONGS AND BALLADS. 103 

" Song, richly vying 
" With the faint sighing 
" Which swans, in dying, 
" Sweetly prolong ? " 

So sung the shepherd-hoy, 

By the stream's side, 
Watching that fairy boat 

Down the flood glide, 
Like a bird winging, 
Through the waves bringing 
That Syren, singing 

To the hush'd tide. 

" Stay," said the shepherd-boy, 

" Fairy-boat, stay, 
" Linger, sweet minstrelsy, 

" Linger a day." 
But vain his pleading, 
Past him, unheeding, 
Song and boat, speeding, 

Glided away. 

So to our youthful eyes 

Joy and hope shone ; 
So, while we gaz'd on them, 

Fast they flew on ; — 
Like flow'rs, declining 
Ev'n in the twining, 
One moment shining, 

And, the next, gone ! 

H 4 



104 SONGS AND BALLADS. 



WELCOME, SWEET BIRD. 

Welcome, sweet bird, through the sunny air winging, 

Swift hast thou come o'er the far-shining sea, 
Like Seba's dove, on thy snowy neck bringing 

Love's written vows from my lover to me. 
Oh, in thy absence, what hours did I number ; — 

Saying oft, " Idle bird, how could he rest ? " 
But thou art come at last, take now thy slumber, 

And lull thee in dreams of all thou lov'st best. 

Yet dost thou droop — even now while I utter 

Love's happy welcome, thy pulse dies away; 
Cheer thee, my bird — were it life's ebbing flutter, 

This fondling bosom should woo it to stay. 
But no — thou'rt dying — thy last task is over — 

Farewell, sweet martyr to Love and to me ! 
The smiles thou hast waken'd by news from my lover, 

Will now all be turn'd into weeping for thee. 



UP WITH THE SPARKLING BRIMMER. 

Up with the sparkling brimmer, 

Up to the crystal rim ; 
Let not a moonbeam glimmer 

'Twixt the flood and brim, 
When hath the world set eyes on 

Aught to match this light, 
Which, o'er our cup's horizon, 

Dawns in bumpers bright ? 



SONGS AND BALLADS. 105 

Truth in a deep well lieth — 

So the wise aver : 
But Truth the fact denieth— 

"Water suits not her. 
No, her abode's in brimmers, 

Like this mighty cup — 
"Waiting till we, good swimmers, 

Dive to bring her up. 



MARCH! NOR HEED THOSE ARMS THAT HOLD 
THEE. 

March ! nor heed those arms that hold thee, 

Though so fondly close they come ; 
Closer still will they enfold thee, 

"When thou bring'st fresh laurels home. 
Dost thou dote on woman's brow ? 

Dost thou live but in her breath ? 
March ! — one hour of victory now 

"Wins thee woman's smile till death. 

Oh what bliss, when war is over, 

Beauty's long-miss'd smile to meet, 
And, when wreaths our temples cover, 

Lay them shining at her feet ; 
Who would not, that hour to reach, 

Breathe out life's expiring sigh, — 
Proud as waves that on the beach 

Lay their war-crests down, and die ? 



106 SONGS AND BALLADS. 

There ! I see thy soul is burning — 

She herself, who clasps thee so, 
Paints, ev'n now, thy glad returning, 

And, while clasping, bids thee go. 
One deep sigh, to passion given, 

One last glowing tear and then — 
March! — nor rest thy sword, till Heaven 

Brings thee to those arms again. 



"'TIS THE VINE! 'TIS THE VINE!" 

"'Tis the Vine ! 'tis the Vine!" said the cup-loving boy, 

As he saw it spring bright from the earth 
And call'd the young Genii of Wit, Love, and Joy, 

To witness and hallow its birth. 
The fruit was full grown, like a ruby it flam'd 

Till the sun-beam that kiss'd it look'd pale : 
" Tis the Vine ! 'tis the Vine ! " ev'ry Spirit exclaim'd, 

" Hail, hail to the Wine-tree, all hail ! " 

First, fleet as a bird, to the summons Wit flew, 

While a light on the vine-leaves there broke, 
In flashes so quick and so brilliant, all knew 

'Twas the light from his lips as he spoke. 
" Bright tree ! let thy nectar but cheer me," he cried, 

"And the fount of Wit never can fail:" 
" 'Tis the Vine ! 'tis the Vine ! " hills and vallies reply, 

" Hail, hail to the Wine-tree, all hail ! " 



SONGS AND BALLADS. 107 

Next, Love, as he lean'd o'er the plant to admire 

Each tendril and cluster it wore, 
From his rosy mouth sent such a breath of desire, 

As made the tree tremble all o'er. 
Oh, never did flow'r of the earth, sea, or sky, 

Such a soul-giving odour inhale : 
" 'Tis the Vine ! 'tis the Vine !" all re-echo the cry, 

" Hail, hail to the Wine-tree, all hail ! " 

Last, Joy, without whom even Love and Wit die, 

Came to crown the bright hour with his ray ; 
And scarce had that mirth-waking tree met his eye, 

When a laugh spoke what Joy could not say ; — 
A laugh of the heart, which was echoed around 

Till, like music, it swell'd on the gale ; 
"'Tis the Vine! 'tis the Vine!" laughing myriads re- 
sound, 

" Hail, hail to the Wine-tree, all hail ! " 



THE MEETING OF THE SHIPS. 

When o'er the silent seas alone, 
For days and nights we've cheerless gone, 
Oh they who've felt it know how sweet, 
Some sunny morn a sail to meet. 

Sparkling at once is ev'ry eye, 

" Ship ahoy ! ship ahoy ! " our joyful cry ; 

While answering back the sounds we hear 

" Ship ahoy ! ship ahoy ! what cheer ? what cheer ? " 



108 SONGS AND BALLADS. 

Then sails are back'd, we nearer come, 
Kind words are said of friends and home 
And soon, too soon, we part with pain, 
To sail o'er silent seas asruin. 



HEP, HD?, HURRA I 

Come, fill round a bumper, fill up to the brim, 
lie who shrinks from a bumper I pledge not to him ; 
" Here's the girl that each loves, be her eye of what hue, 
" Or lustre, it may, so her heart is but true." 

Charge ! (drinks) hip, hip, hurra, hurra ! 

Come, charge high again, boys, nor let the full wine 
Leave a space in the brimmer, where daylight may shine ; 
" Here's the friends of our youth — though of some we're 

bereft, 
'• May the links that are lost but endear what are left !" 
Charge ! (drinks) hip, hip, hurra, hurra ! 

Once more fill a bumper — ne'er talk of the hour ; 
On hearts thus united old Time has no pow'r. 
" May our lives, tho' alas ! like the wine of to-night, 
" They must soon have an end, to the last flow as bright." 
Charge ! (drinks) hip, hip, hurra, hurra ! 

Quick, quick, now, I'll give you, since Time's glass will 

run 
Ev'n faster than ours doth, three bumpers in one ; 



SONGS AND BALLADS. 109 

" Here's the poet who sings — here's the warrior who 

fights — 
" Here's the statesman who speaks, in the cause of 

men's rights ! " 

Charge ! (drinks) hip, hip, hurra, hurra ! 

Come, once more, a bumper ! then drink as you please, 

Tho' who could fill half-way to toasts such as these ? 

" Here's our next joyous meeting — and oh when we 

meet, 
" May our wine be as bright and our union as sweet ! " 

Charge ! (drinks) hip, hip, hurra, hurra ! 



HUSH, HUSH! 
" Hush, hush ! " how well 

That sweet word sounds, 
When Love, the little sentinel, 

Walks his night-rounds ; 
Then, if a foot but dare 

One rose-leaf crush, 
Myriads of voices in the air 

Whisper, "Hush, hush I" 

"Hark, hark, 'tis he!" 

The night-elves cry, 
A.nd hush their fairy harmony, 

While he steals by ; 
But if his silv'ry feet 

One dew-drop brush, 
Voices are heard in chorus sweet, 

Whisp'ring, " Hush, hush ! " 



110 SONGS AND BALLADS. 

THE PARTING BEFORE THE BATTLE. 
HE. 
Ox to the field, our doom is seal'd, 

To conquer or be slaves : 
This sun shall see our nation free, 
Or set upon our graves. 



Farewell, oh farewell, my love, 
May Heav'n thy guardian be, 

And send bright angels from above 
To bring thee back to me. 

HE. 

On to the field, the battle-field, 
Where Freedom's standard waves, 

This sun shall see our tyrant yield, 
Or shine upon our graves. 



THE WATCHMAN. 

A TRIO. 

WATCHMAN. 

Past twelve o'clock — past twelve. 

Good night, good night, my dearest 
How fast the moments fly ! 

'Tis time to part, thou hearest 
That hateful watchman's cry. 



SONGS AND BALLADS. Ill 

WATCHMAN. 

Past one o'clock — past one. 

Yet stay a moment longer — 

Alas ! why is it so, 
The wish to stay grows stronger, 

The more 'tis time to go ? 

WATCHMAN. 

Past two o'clock — past two. 

Now wrap thy cloak about thee — 

The hours must sure go wrong, 
For when they're passed without thee, 

They're, oh, ten times as long. 

WATCHMAN. 

Past three o'clock — past three. 

Again that dreadful warning ! 

Had ever time such flight ? 
And see the sky, 'tis morning — 

So now, indeed, good night. 

WATCHMAN. 

Past three o'clock — past three. 
Good night, good night. 

SAY, WHAT SHALL WE DANCE? 
Sat, what shall we dance ? 
Shall we bound along the moonlight plain, 
To music of Italy, Greece, or Spain ? 
Say, what shall we dance ? 



112 SONGS AND BALLADS. 

Shall we, like those who rove 
Through bright Grenada's grove, 
To the light Bolero's measures move ? 
Or choose the Guaracia's languishing lay, 
And thus to its sound die away ? 

Strike the gay chords, 
Let us hear each strain from ev'ry shore 
That music haunts, or young feet wander o'er. 
Hark ! 'tis the light march, to whose measured time, 
The Polish lady, by her lover led, 

Delights through gay saloons with step untired to tread, 
Or sweeter still, through moonlight walks, 
Whose shadows serve to hide 
The blush that's rais'd by him who talks 
Of love the while by her side ; 

Then comes the smooth waltz, to whose floating sound 
Like dreams we go gliding around, 
Say, which shall we dance ? which shall we dance ? 



THE EVENING GUN. 

Rememb'rest thou that setting sun, 

The last I saw with thee, 
"When loud we heard the ev'ning gun 

Peal o'er the twilight sea ? 
Boom! — the sounds appear'd to sweep 

Far o'er the verge of day, 
Till, into realms beyond the deep, 

They seem'd to die away. 



SONGS AND BALLADS. 113 

Oft, when the toils of day are done, 

In pensive dreams of thee, 
I sit to hear that ev'ning gun, 

Peal o'er the stormy sea. 
Boom ! — and while, o'er billows curl'd, 

The distant sounds decay, 
I weep and wish, from this rough world, 

Like them, to die away. 



TO-DAY, DEAEEST! IS OURS. 

To-day, dearest ! is ours ; 

Why should Love carelessly lose it ? 
This life shines or lowers 

Just as we, weak mortals, use it. 
'Tis time enough, when its flow'rs decay, 

To think of the thorns of Sorrow ; 
And Joy, if left on the stem to-day, 

May wither before to-morrow. 

Then why, dearest ! so long 

Let the sweet moments fly over ? 
Though now, blooming and young, 

Thou hast me devoutly thy lover : 
Yet Time from both, in his silent lapse, 

Some treasure may steal or borrow ; 
Thy charms may be less in bloom, perhaps, 

Or I less in love to-morrow. 



114 SONGS AND BALLADS. 

WHEN ON THE LIP THE SIGH DELAYS. 

When on the lip the sigh delays, 

As if 'twould linger there for ever ; 
When eyes would give the world to gaze, 

Yet still look down, and venture never ; 
When, though with fairest nymphs we rove, 

There's one we dream of more than any — 
If all this is not real love, 

Tis something wond'rous like it, Fanny ! 

To think and ponder, when apart, 

On all we've got to say at meeting ; 
And yet when near, with heart to heart, 

Sit mute, and listen to their beating : 
To see but one bright object move, 

The only moon, where stars are man}' — 
If all this is not downright love, 

I prithee say what is, my Fanny ! 

When Hope foretells the brightest, best, 

Though Keason on the darkest reckons ; 
When Passion drives us to the west, 

Though Prudence to the eastward beckons 
When all turns round, below, above, 

And our own heads the most of any — 
If this is not stark, staring love, 

Then you and I are sages, Fanny. 



SONGS AND BALLADS. 115 

HERE, TAKE MY HEART. 

Here, take my heart — 'twill be safe in thy keeping, 
While I go wand'ring o'er land and o'er sea ; 

Smiling or sorrowing, waking or sleeping, 
What need I care, so my heart is with thee ? 

If, in the race we are destin'd to run, love, 
They who have light hearts the happiest be, 

Then, happier still must be they who have none, love, 
And that will be my case when mine is with thee. 

It matters not where I may now be a rover, 
I care not how many bright eyes I may see ; 

Should Venus herself come and ask me to love her, 
I'd tell her I couldn't — my heart is with thee. 

And there let it lie, growing fonder and fonder — 
For, even should Fortune turn truant to me, 

Why, let her go — I've a treasure beyond her, 
As long as my heart's out at int'rest with thee ! 



OH, CALL IT BY SOME BETTER NAME. 

Oh, call it by some better name, 

For Friendship sounds too cold, 
While Love is now a worldly flame, 

Whose shrine must be of gold ; 
And Passion, like the sun at noon, 

That burns o'er all he sees, 
Awhile as warm, will set as soon — 

Then, call it none of these. 



116 SONGS AND BALLADS. 

Imagine something purer far, 

More free from stain of clay 
Than Friendship, Love, and Passion are, 

Yet human still as they : 
And if thy lip, for love like this, 

No mortal word can frame, 
Go, ask of angels what it is, 

And call it by that name ! 



POOR WOUNDED HEART. 

Poor wounded heart, farewell ! 
Thy hour of rest is come ; 
Thou soon wilt reach thy home, 
Poor wounded heart, farewell ! 
The pain thou'lt feel in breaking 

Less bitter far will be, 
Than that long, deadly aching, 
This life has been to thee. 

There — broken heart, farewell! 
The pang is o'er — 
The parting pang is o'er ; 
Thou now wilt bleed no more. 
Poor broken heart, farewell ! 
No rest for thee but dying — 

Like waves, whose strife is past, 
On death's cold shore thus lying, 
Thou sleep'st in peace at last — 
Poor broken heart, farewell ' 



SONGS AND BALLADS. 117 



THE EAST INDIAN. 



Come, May, with all thy flowers, 

Thy sweetly-scented thorn, 
Thy cooling ev'ning showers, 

Thy fragrant breath at morn : 
When May-flies haunt the willow, 

When May-buds tempt the bee, 
Then o'er the shining billow 

My love will come to me. 

From Eastern Isles she's winging, 

Through wat'ry wilds, her way, 
And on her cheek is bringing 

The bright sun's orient ray : 
Oh, come and court her hither, 

Ye breezes mild and warm— 
One winter's gale would wither 

So soft, so pure a form. 

The fields where she was straying 

Are blest with endless light, 
With zephyrs always playing 

Through gardens always bright. 
Then now, sweet May ! be sweeter 

Than e'er thou'st been before ; 
Let sighs from roses meet her 

When she comes near our shore. 



118 SONGS AND BALLADS. 

POOR BROKEN FLOWER 

Poor broken flow'r ! what art can now recover thee ? 
Torn from the stem that fed thy rosy breath — 
In vain the sun-beams seek 
To warm that faded cheek ; 
The dews of heav'n, that once like balm fell over thee, 
Now are but tears, to weep thy early death. 

So droops the maid whose lover hath forsaken her, — 
Thrown from his arms, as lone and lost as thou ; 
In vain the smiles of all 
Like sun-beams round her fall ; 
The only smile that could from death awaken her, 
That smile, alas ! is gone to others now. 



THE PRETTY ROSE-TREE. 

Being weary of love, 

I flew to the grove, 
And chose me a tree of the fairest ; 

Saying, " Pretty Rose-tree, 

" Thou my mistress shalt be, 
" And I'll worship each bud thou bearest. 
" For the hearts of this world are hollow, 
" And fickle the smiles we follow ; 

" And 'tis sweet, when all 

" Their witch'ries pall, 
" To have a pure love to fly to : 

" So, my pretty Rose-tree, 

" Thou my mistress shalt be, 
" And the only one now I shall sigh to." 



SONGS AND BALLADS. 119 

When the beautiful hue 

Of thy cheek through the dew 
Of morning is bashfully peeping, 

" Sweet tears," I shall say 

(As I brush them away), 
" At least there's no art in this weeping.'' 
Although thou should'st die to-morrow, 
'Twill not be from pain or sorrow ; 

And the thorns of thy stem 

Are not like them 
With which men wound each other : 

So my pretty Rose-tree, 

Thou my mistress shalt be, 
And I'll ne'er again sigh to another. 



SHINE OUT, STARS! 

Shine out, Stars ! let Heav'n assemble 

Round us ev'ry festal ray, 
Lights that move not, lights that tremble, 

All to grace this Eve of May. 
Let the flow'r-beds all lie waking, 

And the odours shut up there, 
From their downy prisons breaking, 

Fly abroad through sea and air. 

And would Love, too, bring his sweetness, 
With our other joys to weave, 

Oh what glory, what completeness, 

Then would crown this bright May Eve ! 

I 4 



120 SONGS AND BALLADS. 

Shine out, Stars ! let night assemble 

Round us every festal ray, 
Lights that move not, lights that tremble, 

To adorn this Eve of May. 



TIIE YOUNG MULETEERS OF GRENADA. 

On, the joys of our ev'ning posada, 

Where, resting at close of day, 
We, young Muleteers of Grenada, 

Sit and sing the sunshine away ; 
So merry, that even the slumbers, 

That round us hung, seem gone ; 
Till the lute's soft drowsy numbers 

Again beguile them on. 
Oh, the joys, &c. 

Then as each to his loved sultana 

In sleep still breathes the sigh, 
The name of some black-eyed Tirana 

Escapes our lips as we lie. 
Till, with morning's rosy twinkle, 

Again we're up and gone — 
While the mule-bell's drowsy tinkle 

Beguiles the rough way on. 
Oh, the joys of our merry posada, 

Where, resting at close of day, 
We, young Muleteers of Grenada, 

Thus sing the gay moments away. 



SONGS AND BALLADS. 121 

TELL ITER, OH TELL HER. 

Tell her, oh, tell her, the lute she left lying 
Beneath the green arbour, is still lying there ; 

And breezes, like lovers, around it are sighing, 
But not a soft whisper replies to their pray'r. 

Tell her, oh tell her, the tree that, in going, 
Beside the green arbour she playfully set, 

As lovely as ever is blushing and blowing, 
And not a bright leaflet has fall'n from it yet. 

So while away from that arbour forsaken, 
The maiden is wandering, still let her be 

As true as the lute, that no sighing can waken, 
And blooming for ever, unchang'd as the tree J 



NIGHTS OE MUSIC. 

Nights of music, nights of loving, 

Lost too soon, remember'd long, 
When we went by moonlight roving, 

Hearts all love and lips all song. 
When this faithful lute recorded 

All my spirit felt to thee ; 
And that smile the song rewarded — 

Worth whole years of fame to me ! 

Nights of song, and nights of splendour, 
Fill'd with joys too sweet to last — 



122 SONGS AND BALLADS. 

Joys that, like the star-light, tender, 
While they shone no shadow cast. 

Though all other happy hours 
From my fading mem'ry fly, 

Of that star-light, of those bowers, 
Not a beam, a leaf shall die ! 



OUR FIRST YOUNG LOVE. 

Ouu first young love resembles 

That short but brilliant ray, 
Which smiles, and weeps, and trembles 

Through April's earliest day, 
And not all life before us, 

Howe'er its lights may play, 
Can shed a lustre o'er us 

Like that first April ray. 

Our summer sun may squander 
A blaze serener, grander ; 
Our autumn beam 
May, like a dream 
Of heav'n, die calm away ; 
But, no — let life before us 

Bring all the light it may, 
'Twill ne'er shed lustre o'er us 
Like that first youthful ray. 



SOXGS AND BALLADS. 123 



BLACK AND BLUE EYES. 

The brilliant black eye 

May in triumph let fly 
All its darts without caring who feels 'em ; 

But the soft eye of blue, 

Though it scatter wounds too, 
Is much better pleas'd when it heals 'em — 

Dear Fanny ! 

But the soft eye of blue, 

Though it scatter wounds too, 
Is much better pleas'd when it heals 'em. 

The black eye may say, 

" Come and worship my ray — 

" By adoring, perhaps, you may move me !' 
But the blue eye, half hid, 
Says, from under its lid, 

" I love, and am yours, if you love me ! " 
Yes, Fanny ! 
The blue eye, half hid, 
Says, from under its lid, 

" I love, and am yours, if you love me !" 

Come tell me, then, why, 

In that lovely blue eye, 
Not a charm of its tint I discover ; 

Oh, why should you wear 

The only blue pair 
That ever said " No" to a lover ? 



124 SONGS AND BALLADS. 

Dear Fanny ! 
Oh, why should you wear 
The only blue pair 
That ever said " No" to a lover ? 



DEAE FANNY. 

" She has beauty, but still you must keep your heart cool 
" She has wit, but you mustn't be caught so :" 

Thus Reason advises, but Reason's a fool, 
And 'tis not the first time 1 have thought so, 

Dear Fanny, 
'Tis not the first time I have thought so. 

" She is lovely ; then love her, nor let the bliss fly ; 

" 'Tis the charm of youth's vanishing season : " 
Thus Love has advis'd me, and who will deny 

That Love reasons much better than Reason, 
Dear Fanny ? 

Love reasons much better than Reason. 



FROM LIFE WITHOUT FREEDOM. 

From life without freedom, say, who would not fly? 
For one day of freedom, oh ! who would not die ? 
Hark ! — hark ! 'tis the trumpet! the call of the brave, 
The death-song of tyrants, the dirge of the slave. 
Our country lies bleeding — haste, haste to her aid; 
One arm that defends is worth hosts that invade. 



SONGS AND BALLADS. 125 

In death's kindly bosom our last hope remains — ■ 
The dead fear no tyrants, the grave has no chains. 
On, on to the combat ; the heroes that bleed 
For virtue and mankind are heroes indeed. 
And oh, ev'n if Freedom from this world be driven, 
Despair not — at least we shall find her in heaven. 



HEEE'S THE BOWEE. 

Here's the bower she lov'd so much, 

And the tree she planted ; 
Here's the harp she used to touch — 

Oh, how that touch enchanted ! 
Roses now unheeded sigh ; 

Where's the hand to wreath them ? 
Songs around neglected lie ; 

Where's the lip to breathe them ? 
Here's the bower, &c. 

Spring may bloom, but she we lov'd 

Ne'er shall feel its sweetness ; 
Time, that once so fleetly mov'd 

Now hath lost its fleetness. 
Years were days, when here she stray 'd, 

Days were moments near her ; 
Heav'n ne'er form'd a brighter maid, 
Nor Pity wept a dearer I 

Here's the bower, &c. 



12G SOXGS AND BALLADS. 

I SAW THE MOON RISE CLEAR. 

A FINLAND LOVE SONG. 

I saav the moon rise clear 

O'er hills and vales of snow, 
Nor told my fleet rein -deer 

The track I wish'd to go. 
Yet quick he bounded forth ; 

For well my rein-deer knew 
I've but one path on earth — 

The path which leads to you. 

The gloom that winter cast 

How soon the heart forgets, 
When Summer brings, at last, 

Her sun that never sets ! 
So dawn'd my love for you ; 

So, fix'd through joy and pain, 
Than summer sun more true, 

'Twill never set again. 



LOVE AND THE SUN-DLVL. 

Young Love found a Dial once, in a dark shade, 
"Where man ne'er had wander'd nor sunbeam play'd ; 
" Why thus in darkness lie," whisper'd young Love : 
" Thou, whose gay hours in sunshine should move ? 
" I ne'er," said the Dial, " have seen the warm sun, 
" So noonday and midnight to me, Love, are one." 



SONGS AND BALLADS. 127 

Then Love took the Dial away from the shade, 
And plac'd her where Heav'n's beam warmly play'd. 
There she reclin'd, beneath Love's gazing eye, 
"While, mark'd all with sunshine, her hours flew by. 
" Oh, how," said the Dial, " can any fair maid, 
" That's born to be shone upon, rest in the shade ?" 

But night now comes on, and the sunbeam's o'er, 
And Love stops to gaze on the Dial no more. 
Alone and neglected, while bleak rain and winds 
Are storming around her, with sorrow she finds 
That Love had but number'd a few sunny hours, — 
Then left the remainder to darkness and showers ! 



LOVE AND TIME. 

'Tis said — but whether true or not 

Let bards declare who've seen 'em — 
That Love and Time have only got 

One pair of wings between 'em. 
In courtship's first delicious hour, 

The boy full oft can spare 'em ; 
So loit'ring in his lady's bower, 

He lets the grey-beard wear 'em. 
Then is Time's hour of play ; 
Oh, how he flies, flies away ! 

But short the moments, short as bright, 
When he the wings can borrow ; 

If Time to-day has had his flight, 
Love takes his turn to-morrow. 



128 SONGS AND BALLADS. 

Ah ! Time and Love, your change is then 

The saddest and most trying, 
"When one begins to limp again, 
And t'other takes to flying. 
Then is Love's hour to stray ; 
Oh, how he flies, flies away ! 

But there's a nymph, whose chains I feel, 

And bless the silken fetter, 
Who knows, the dear one, how to deal 

With Love and Time much better. 
So well she checks their wanderings, 

So peacefully she pairs 'em, 
That Love with her ne'er thinks of wings, 

And Time for ever wears 'em. 
This is Time's holiday ; 
Oh, how he flies, flies away ! 



LOVE'S LIGHT SUMMER-CLOUD. 

Pain and sorrow shall vanish before us — 
Youth may wither, but feeling will last ; 
All the shadow that e'er shall fall o'er us, 
Love's light summer-cloud only shall cast. 
Oh, if to love thee more 
Each hour I number o'er — 
If this a passion be 
"Worthy of thee, 
Then be happy, for thus I adore thee. 
Charms may wither, but feeling shall last 



SONGS AND BALLADS. 129 

All the shadow that e'er shall fall o'er thee, 
Love's light summer-cloud sweetly shall cast. 

Rest, dear bosom, no sorrows shall pain thee, 

Sighs of pleasure alone shalt thou steal ; 
Beam, bright eyelid, no weeping shall stain thee, 
Tears of rapture alone shalt thou feel. 
Oh, if there be a charm 
In love, to banish harm — 
If pleasure's truest spell 
Be to love well, 
Then be happy, for thus I adore thee. 

Charms may wither, but feeling shall last : 
All the shadow that e'er shall fall o'er thee, 
Love's light summer-cloud sweetly shall cast. 



LOVE, WAND'KING THROUGH THE GOLDEN MAZE. 

Love, wand'ring through the golden maze 

Of my beloved's hair, 
Trac'd every lock with fond delays, 

And, doting, linger'd there. 
And soon he found 'twere vain to fly ; 

His heart was close confin'd, 
For, every ringlet was a tie — 

A chain by beauty twin'd. 



130 SONGS AND BALLADS. 

MERRILY EVERT BOSOM BOUNDETII. 

THE TYROLESE SONG OF LIBERTY. 

Merrily every bosom boundeth, 

Merrily, oli ! 
Where the song of Freedom soundeth, 
Merrily, oh ! 
There the warrior's arms 
Shed more splendour -, 
There the maiden's charms 
Shine more tender ; 
Ev'ry joy the land surroundeth, 
Merrily, oh ! merrily, oh ! 



Wearily every bosom pineth, 

Wearily, oh ! 
Where the bond of slavery twineth 
Wearily, oh ! 
There the warrior's dart 

Hath no fleetness ; 
There the maiden's heart 
Hath no sweetness — 
Ev'ry flow'r of life deelineth, 
Wearily, oh! wearily, oh! 

Cheerily then from hill and valley, 

Cheerily, oh ! 
Like your native fountains sally, 
Cherrily, oh! 
If a glorious death, 
Won by bravery, 



SONGS AND BALLADS. 131 

Sweeter be than breath 
Sigh'd in slavery, 
Round the flag of Freedom rail;.-, 
Cheerily, oh ! cheerily, oh ! 



REMEMBER THE TIME. 

THE CASTILIAN MAID. 

Remember the time, in La Mancha's shades, 

When our moments so blissfully flew ; 
When you call'd me the flower of Castilian maids, 

And I blush'd to be call'd so by you ; 
When I taught you to warble the gay seguadille, 

And to dance to the light Castanet ; 
Oh, never, dear youth, let you roam where you will, 

The delight of those moments forget. 

They tell me, you lovers from Erin's green isle, 

Every hour a new passion can feel ; 
And that soon, in the light of some lovelier smile, 

You'll forget the poor maid of Castile. 
But they know not how brave in the battle you are, 

Or they never could think you would rove ; 
For 'tis always the spirit most gallant in war 

That is fondest and truest in love. 



OH, SOON RETURN. 

Our white sail caught the ev'ning ray, 
The wave beneath us seem'd to burn, 



132 SONGS AND BALLADS. 

When all the weeping maid could say 

Was, "Oh, soon return !" 
Through many a clime our ship -was driven, 

O'er many a billow rudely thrown ; 
Now chill'd beneath a northern heaven, 

Now Bunn'd in Bummer's zone : 
And still, where'er we bent our way, 

When evening bid the west wave burn, 
I fancied still I heard her say, 

" Oh, soon return ! " 

If ever yet my bosom found 

Its thoughts one moment turn'd from thee, 
'Twas when the combat rag'd around, 

And brave men look'd to me. 
But though the war-field's wild alarm 

For gentle Love was all unmeet, 
He lent to Glory's brow the charm, 

Which made even danger sweet. 
And still, when vict'ry's calm came o'er 

The hearts where rage had ceas'd to burn, 
Those parting words I heard once more, 

" Oh, soon return ! — Oh, soon return ! " 



LOVE THEE ? 

Love thee ? — so well, so tenderly 
Thou'rt lov'd, ador'd by me, 

Fame, fortune, wealth, and liberty, 
Were worthless without thee. 



SONGS AND BALLADS. 133 

Though brimm'd with blessings, pure and rare, 

Life's cup before me lay, 
Unless thy love were mingled there, 

I'd spurn the draught away. 
Love thee ? — so well, so tenderly 

Thou'rt lov'd, ador'd by me, 
Fame, fortune, wealth, and liberty, 

Are worthless without thee. 

Without thy smile, the monarch's lot 

To me were dark and lone, 
While, with it, ev'n the humblest cot 

Were brighter than his throne. 
Those worlds, for which the conqu'ror sighs, 

For me would have no charms ; 
My only world thy gentle eyes — 

My throne thy circling arms ! 
Oh, yes, so well, so tenderly 

Thou'rt lov'd, ador'd by me, 
Whole realms of light and liberty 

Were worthless without thee. 



ONE DEAR SMILE. 

Couldst thou look as dear as when 

First I sigh'd for thee ; 
Couldst thou make me feel again 
Every wish I breath'd thee then, 

Oh, how blissful life would be ! 

K 3 



134 SONGS AND BALLADS. 

Hopes, that now beguiling leave me, 
Joys, that lie in slumber cold — 

All would wake, couldst thou but give me 
One dear smile like those of old. 

No — there's nothing left us now, 

But to mourn the past ; 
Vain was every ardent vow — 
Never yet did heaven allow 

Love so warm, so wild, to last. 
Not even hope could now deceive me — 

Life itself looks dark and cold : 
Oh, thou never more canst give me 

One dear smile like those of old. 



YES, YES, WHEN THE BLOOM. 

Yes, yes, when the bloom of Love's boyhood is o'er, 
He'll turn into friendship that feels no decay ; 

And, though Time may take from him the wings he 
once wore, 

The charms that remain will be bright as before, 
And he'll lose but his young trick of flying away. 

Then let it console thee, if Love should not stay, 

That Friendship our last happy moments will crown : 
Like the shadows of morning Love lessens away, 
While Friendship, like those at the closing of day, 
Will linger and lengthen as life's sun goes down. 



SONGS AND BALLADS. 135 



THE DAY OE LOVE. 

The beam of morning trembling 
Stole o'er the mountain brook, 
With timid ray resembling 
Affection's early look. 
Thus love begins — sweet morn of love ! 

The noon-tide ray ascended, 
And o'er the valley's stream 

Diffus'd a glow as splendid 
As passion's riper dream. 
Thus love expands — warm noon of love ! 

But evening came, o'ershading 

The glories of the sky, 
Like faith and fondness fading, 

From passion's alter'd eye. 
Thus love declines — cold eve of love ! 



LUSITANIAN WAE-SONG. 

The song of war shall echo through our mountains, 

Till not one hateful link remains 

Of slavery's lingering chains ; 

Till not one tyrant tread our plains, 
Nor traitor lip pollute our fountains. 

No ! never till that glorious day 

Shall Lusitania's sons be gay, 

Or hear, oh Peace, thy welcome lay 
Resounding through her sunny mountains. 

K 4 



136 SONGS AND BALLADS. 

The song of war shall echo through our mountains, 
Till Victory's self shall, smiling, say, 
" Your cloud of foes hath pass'd away, 
" And Freedom comes, with new-horn ray, 

" To gild your vines and light your fountains." 
Oh, never till that glorious day 
Shall Lusitania's sons be gay, 
Or hear, sweet Peace, thy welcome lay 

Resounding through her sunny mountains. 



THE YOUNG ROSE. 

The young rose I give thee, so dewy and bright, 
Was the flow'ret most dear to the sweet bird of night, 
"Who oft, by the moon, o'er her blushes hath hung, 
And thrill'd ev'ry leaf with the wild lay he sung. 

Oh, take thou this young rose, and let her life be 
Prolong'd by the breath she will borrow from thee ; 
For, while o'er her bosom thy soft notes shall thrill, 
Shell think the sweet night-bird is courting her still 



WHEN MIDST THE GAY I MEET. 

When midst the gay I meet 

That gentle smile of thine, 
Though still on me it turns most sweet, 

I scarce can call it mine : 



SONGS AND BALLADS. 137 

But when to me alone 

Your secret tears you show, 
Oh, then I feel those tears my own, 

And claim them while they flow. 
Then still with bright looks bless 

The gay, the cold, the free ; 
Give smiles to those who love you less, 

But keep your tears for me. 

The snow on Jura's steep 

Can smile in many a beam, 
Yet still in chains of coldness sleep, 

How bright soe'er it seem. 
But, when some deep-felt ray, 

Whose touch is fire, appears, 
Oh, then the smile is warm'd away, 

And, melting, turns to tears. 
Then still with bright looks bless 

The gay, the cold, the free ; 
Give smiles to those who love you less, 

But keep your tears for me. 



WHEN TWILIGHT DEWS. 

"When twilight dews are falling soft 

Upon the rosy sea, love, 
I watch the star, whose beam so oft 

Has lighted me to thee, love. 
And thou too, on that orb so dear, 

Dost often gaze at even, 



138 SONGS AND BALLADS. 

And think, though lost for ever here, 
Thou'lt yet be mine in heaven. 

There's not a garden-walk I tread, 

There's not a flow'r I see, love, 
But brings to mind some hope that's fled, 

Some joy that's gone with thee, love. 
And still I wish that hour was near, 

When, friends and foes forgiven, 
The pains, the ills we've wept through here, 

May turn to smiles in heaven. 



YOUNG JESSICA. 

Young Jessica sat all the day, 

With heart o'er idle love-thoughts pining : 
Her needle bright beside her lay, 

So active once! — now idly shining. 
Ah, Jessy, 'tis in idle hearts 

That love and mischief are most nimble ; 
The safest shield against the darts 

Of Cupid, is Minerva's thimble. 

The child, who with a magnet plays, 

"Well knowing all its arts, so wily, 
The tempter near a needle lays, 

And laughing says, " We'll steal it slily." 
The needle, having nought to do, 

Is pleas'd to let the magnet wheedle ; 
Till closer, closer come the two, 

And — off, at length, elopes the needle. 



SONGS AND BALLADS. 139 

Now, had this needle turn'd its eye 

To some gay reticule's construction, 
It ne'er had stray'd from duty's tie, 

Nor felt the magnet's sly seduction. 
Thus, girls, would you keep quiet hearts, 

Your snowy fingers must be nimble ; 
The safest shield against the darts 

Of Cupid, is Minerva's thimble. 



HOW HAPPY, ONCE. 

How happy, once, though wing'd with sighs, 

My moments flew along, 
While looking on those smiling eyes, 

And list'ning to thy magic song ! 
But vanish'd now, like summer dreams, 

Those moments smile no more ; 
For me that eye no longer beams, 

That song for me is o'er. 
Mine the cold brow, 
That speaks thy alter'd vow, 
While others feel thy sunshine now. 

Oh, could I change my love like thee, 

One hope might yet be mine — 
Some other eyes as bright to see, 

And hear a voice as sweet as thine : 
But never, never can this heart 

Be wak'd to life again ; 



140 SONGS AND BALLADS. 

With thee it lost its vital part, 

And wither'd then ! 
Cold its pulse lies, 
And mute are ev'n its sighs, 
All other grief it now defies. 



I LOVE BUT TIIEE. 

If, after all, you still will doubt and fear me, 
And think this heart to other loves will stray, 

If I must swear, then, lovely doubter, hear me ; 
By ev'ry dream I have when thou'rt away, 

By ev'ry throb I feel when thou art near me, 
I love but thee — I love but thee ! 

By those dark eyes, where light is ever playing, 
"Where Love, in depth of shadow, holds his throne, 

And by those lips, which give whate'er thou'rt saying 
Or grave or gay, a music of its own, 

A music far beyond all minstrel's playing, 
I love but thee — I love but thee! 

By that fair brow, where Innocence reposes, 
As pure as moonlight sleeping upon snow, 

And by that cheek, whose fleeting blush discloses 
A hue too bright to bless this world below, 

And only fit to dwell on Eden's roses, 
I love but thee — I love but thee ! 






SONGS AND BALLADS. 141 

LET JOY ALONE BE EEMEMBER'D NOW. 
Let thy joys alone be remember'd now, 

Let thy sorrows go sleep awhile ; 
Or if thought's dark cloud come o'er thy brow, 

Let Love light it up with his smile. 
For thus to meet, and thus to find, 

That Time, whose touch can chill 
Each flower of form, each grace of mind, 

Hath left thee blooming still, — 
Oh, joy alone should be thought of now, 

Let our sorrows go sleep awhile ; 
Or, should thought's dark cloud come o'er thy brow, 

Let Love light it up with his smile. 

When the flowers of life's sweet garden fade, 

If but one bright leaf remain, 
Of the many that once its glory made, 

It is not for us to complain. 
But thus to meet and thus to wake 

In all Love's early bliss ; 
Oh, Time all other gifts may take, 

So he but leaves us this ! 
Then let joy alone be remember'd now, 

Let our sorrows go sleep awhile ; 
Or if thought's dark cloud come o'er thy brow ? 

Let Love light it up with his smile! 



LOVE THEE, DEAREST? LOVE THEE? 
Love thee, dearest ? love thee ? 
Yes, by yonder star I swear, 



142 SONGS AND BALLADS. 

"Which through tears above thee 

Shines so sadly fair ; 
Though often dim. 
With tears, like him, 
Like him my truth will shine, 

And — love thee, dearest? love thee ? 
Yes, till death I'm thine. 

Leave thee, dearest ? leave thee ? 

No, that star is not more true ; 
"When my vows deceive thee, 

lie will wander too. 
A cloud of night 
May veil his light, 
And death shall darken mine — 

But — leave thee, dearest ? leave thee? 
No, till death I'm thine. 



MY HEAKT AND LUTE. 
I give thee all — I can no more — 

Though poor the off'ring be ; 
My heart and lute are all the store 

That I can bring to thee. 
A lute whose gentle song reveals 

The soul of love full well ; 
And, better far, a heart that feels 
Much more than lute could tell. 

Though love and song may fail, alas ! 
To keep life's clouds away, 



SONGS AND BALLADS. 143 

At least 'twill make them lighter pass 

Or gild them if they stay. 
And ev'n if Care, at moments, flings 

A discord o'er life's happy strain, 
Let love but gently touch the strings, 

'Twill all be sweet again ! 



PEACE, PEACE TO HIM THAT'S GONE! 

When I am dead 

Then lay my head 
In some lone, distant dell, 

Where voices ne'er 

Shall stir the air, 
Or break its silent spell. 

If any sound 
Be heard around, 
Let the sweet bird alone, 
That weeps in song 
Sing all night long, 
"Peace, peace, to him that's gone!" 

Yet, oh, were mine 

One sigh of thine, 
One pitying word from thee, 

Like gleams of heav'n, 

To sinners giv'n, 
Would be that word to me. 



144 SONGS AND BALLADS. 

Howe'er unblest, 

My shade would rest 
"While list'ning to that tone ; — 

Enough 'twould be 

To hear from thee, 
" Peace,, peace, to him that's gone ! ' 



ROSE OF THE DESERT. 

Rose of the Desert ! thou, whose blushing ray, 
Lonely and lovely, fleets unseen away ; 
No hand to cull thee, none to woo thy sigh, — 
In vestal silence left to live and die, — 
Rose of the Desert ! thus should woman be, 
Shining uncourted, lone and safe, like thee. 

Rose of the Garden, how unlike thy doom ! 
Destin'd for others, not thyself, to bloom ; 
Cull'd e'er thy beauty lives through half its day; 
A moment cherish'd, and then cast away ; 
Rose of the Garden ! such is woman's lot, — 
Worshipp'd, while blooming — when she fades, forgot. 



? TIS ALL EOR THEE. 

If life for me hath joy or light, 

'Tis all from thee, 
My thoughts by day, my dreams by night, 

Are but of thee, of only thee. 



SONGS AND BALLADS. 145 

Whate'er of hope or peace I know, 
Mr zest in joy, my balm in woe, 
To those dear eyes of thine I owe, 
'Tis all from thee. 

My heart, ev'n ere I saw those eyes. 

Seem'd doom'd to thee ; 
Kept pure till then from other ties, 

'Twas all for thee, for only thee. 
Like plants that sleep, till sunny May 
C Us forth their life, my spirit lay, 
Till, touch'd by Love's awak'ning ray, 

It liv'd for thee, it liv'd for thee. 

"When Fame would call me to her heights, 

She speaks by thee : 
And dim would shine her proudest lights, 

Unshar'd by thee, unshar'd by thee. 
Whene'er I seek the Muse's shrine, 
Where Bards have hung their wreaths divine., 
And wish those wreaths of glory mine, 

'Tis all for thee, for only thee. 



THE SONG OF THE OLDEN TTALE. 1 

There's a song of the olden time, 
Falling sad o'er the ear, 

1 In this song, -which is one of the many set to music by nrys :-":. :' : 
occasional lawlessness of the metre arises. I need hardly say, from the 
peculiar structure of the air. 



146 SONGS AND BALLADS. 

Like the dream of some village chime, 

Which in youth we lov'd to hear. 
And ev'n amidst the grand and gay, 

When Music tries her gentlest art, 
I never hear so sweet a lay, 

Or one that hangs so round my heart, 
As that song of the olden time, 

Falling sad o'er the ear, 
Like the dream of some village chime, 

Which in youth we lov'd to hear. 

And when all of this life is gone, — 

Ev'n the hope, lingering now, 
Like the last of the leaves left on 

Autumn's sere and faded bough, — 
'Twill seem as still those friends were near, 

Who lov'd me in youth's early day, 
If in that parting hour I hear 

The same sweet notes, and die away, — 
To that song of the olden time, 

Breath'd, like Hope's farewell strain, 
To say, in some brighter clime, 

Life and youth will shine again ! 



WAKE TIEEE, MY DEAE. 

"Wake thee, my dear — thy dreaming 
Till darker hours will keep ; 

While such a moon is beaming, 

'Tis wrong tow'rds Heav'n to sleep- 



SONGS AND E ALL ADS. 147 

Moments there are we number, 

Moments of pain and care, 
Which to oblivious slumber 

Gladly the wretch could spare. 
But now — who'd think of dreaming 

When Love his watch should keep ? 
While such a moon is beaming, 

'Tis wrong tow'rds Heav'n to sleep. 

If e'er the Fates should sever 

My life and hopes from thee, love, 
The sleep that lasts for ever 

Would then be sweet to me, love ; 
But now, — away with dreaming! 

Till darker hours 'twill keep ; 
While such a moon is beaming, 

'Tis wrong tow'rds Heav'n to 



THE BOY OF THE ALPS. 1 

Lightly, Alpine rover, 

Tread the mountains over ; 

Rude is the path thou'st yet to go ; 

Snow cliffs hanging o'er thee, 

Fields of ice before thee, 
While the hid torrent moans below. 
Hark, the deep thunder, 
Through the vales yonder ! 
'Tis the huge av'lancbe downward cast ; 

1 This and the Songs that follow (as far as page 180.) have been 
published, with music, by Messrs. Addison and Beale, Regent Street. 



148 SONGS AND BALLADS. 

From rock to rock 

Rebounds the shock. 
But courage, boy ! the clanger's past. 

Onward, youthful rover, 

Tread the glacier over, 
Safe shalt thou reach thy home at last. 
On, ere light forsake thee, 
Soon will dusk o'ertake thee : 
O'er yon ice-bridge lies thy way ! 

Now, for the risk prepare thee ; 

Safe it yet may bear thee, 
Though 'twill melt in morning's ray. 

Hark, that dread howling! 

'Tis the wolf prowling, 

Scent of thy track the foe hath got ; 

And cliff and shore 

Resound his roar. 
But courage, boy, — the danger's past! 

Watching eyes have found thee, 

Loving arms are round thee, 
Safe hast thou reach'd thy father's cot. 



FOE TIIEE ALONE. 

For thee alone I brave the boundless deep, 

Those eyes my light through ev'ry distant sea ; 

My waking thoughts, the dream that gilds my sleep, 
The noon-tide rev'rie, all are giv'n to thee, 
To thee alone, to thee alone. 



SONGS AND BALLADS. 149 

Though future scenes present to Fancy's eye 
Fair forms of light that crowd the distant air, 

"When nearer view'd the fairy phantoms fly, 
The crowds dissolve, and thou alone art there, 
Thou, thou alone. 

To win thy smile, I speed from shore to shore, 
"While Hope's sweet voice is heard in every blast, 

Still whisp'ring on, that when some years are o'er, 
One bright reward shall crown my toil at last, 
Thy smile alone, thy smile alone. 

Oh, place beside the transport of that hour 
All earth can boast of fair, of rich, and bright, 

"Wealth's radiant mines, the lofty thrones of power, — 
Then ask where first thy lover's choice would light ? 
On thee alone, on thee alone. 



HER LAST WORDS, AT PARTING. 

Her last words, at parting, how can I forget ? 

Deep treasur'd through life, in my heart they shall 
stay; 
Like music, whose charm in the soul lingers yet, 

When its sounds from the ear have long melted away. 
Let Fortune assail me, her threat'nings are vain ; 

Those still-breathing words shall my talisman be, — 
" Remember, in absence, in sorrow, and pain, 

" There's one heart, unchanging, that beats but for 
thee." 

L 3 



150 SONGS AND BALLADS. 

From the desert's sweet well tho' the pilgrim must Lie, 
Never more of that fresh-springing fountain to taste. 

He hath still of its bright drops a treasure! supply, 

"Whose sweetness lends life to his lips through tin- 
waste. 

So. dark as my fate is still doom'd to remain, 

These words shall my well in the wilderness be, — 
K member, in absence, in sorrow, and pain, 
" There's one heart, unchanging, that beats but for 
thee." 



LET'S TAKE THIS WORLD AS SOME WIDE SCENE. 

Let's take this world as some wide scene, 

Through which, in frail, but buoyant boat, 
With skies now dark and now serene, 

Together thou and I must float ; 
Beholding oft, on either shore, 

Bright spots where we should love to stay ; 
But Time plies swift his flying oar, 

And away we speed, away, away. 

Should chilling winds and rains come on, 

We'll raise our awning 'gainst the show'r ; 
Sit closer till the storm is gone, 

And, smiling, wait a sunnier hour. 
And if that sunnier hour should shine, 

We'll know its brightness cannot stay, 
But happy, while 'tis thine and mine, 

Complain not when it fades away. 



SONGS AND BALLADS. 151 

So shall we reach at last that Fall 

Down which life's currents all must go, — 
The dark, the brilliant, destin'd all 

To sink into the void below. 
Nor ev'n that hour shall want its charms, 

If, side by side, still fond we keep, 
And calmly, in each other's arms 

Together link'd, go down the steep. 



LOVE'S VICTORY". 

Sing to Love — for, oh, 'twas he 

Who won the glorious day ; 
Strew the wreaths of victory 

Along the conqu'ror's way, 
Yoke the Muses to his car, 

Let them sing each trophy won ; 
While his mother's joyous star 

Shall light the triumph on. 

Hail to Love, to mighty Love, 

Let spirits sing around ; 
While the hill, the dale, and grove, 

With " mighty Love," resound ; 
Or, should a sigh of sorrow steal 

Amid the sounds thus echo'd o'er 
'Twill but teach the god to feel 

His victories the more. 

L 4 



1J2 SONGS AND BALLADS. 

See his wings, like amethyst 

Of sunny Ind their hue ; 
Bright as when, by Psyche kist, 

They trembled through and through. 
Flowers spring beneath his feet ; 

Angel forms beside him run ; 
While unnumbered lips repeat 

"Love's victory is won!" 

Hail to Love, to mighty Love, &c. 



SONG OF HERCULES TO HIS DAUGHTER.' 

" I've been, oh, sweet daughter, 

" To fountain and sea, 
" To seek in their water 

" Some bright gem for thee, 
" Where diamonds were sleeping, 

" Their sparkle I sought, 
" Where crystal was weeping, 

" Its tears I have caught. 

" The sea-nymph I've courted 

" In rich coral halls ; 
" With Naiads have sported 

" By bright waterfalls. 

' Founded on the fable reported by Arrian (in Indicis) of Hercules 
having searched the Lidian Ocean, to find the pearl with which he 
adorned his daughter Pandoca. 



SONGS AND BALLADS. 153 

" But sportive or tender, 

" Still sought I, around, 
" That gem, with whose splendour 

" Thou yet shalt be crown'd. 

" And see, while I'm speaking, 

" Yon soft light afar ; — 
" The pearl I've been seeking 

" There floats like a star ! 
" In the deep Indian Ocean 

" I see the gem shine, 
" And quick as light's motion 

" Its wealth shall be thine." 

Then eastward, like lightning, 

The hero-god flew, 
His sunny looks bright'ning 

The air he went through. 
And sweet was the duty, 

And hallow'd the hour, 
Which saw thus young Beauty, 

Embellish'd by Power. 



THE DREAM OF HOME. 

Who has not felt how sadly sweet 

The dream of home, the dream of home, 

Steals o'er the heart, too soon to fleet, 
When far o'er sea or land we roam ? 



154 SONGS AND BALLADS. 

Sunlight more soft may o'er us fall, 
To greener shores our bark may come ; 

But fur more bright, more dear than all, 
That dream of home, that dream of home. 

Ask of the sailor youth when far 

His light bark bounds o'er ocean's loam, 
What charms him most, when ev'ning's star 

Smiles o'er the wave ? to dream of home. 
Fond thoughts of absent friends and loves 

At that sweet hour around him come ; 
His heart's best joy where'er he roves, 

That dream of home, that dream of home. 



THEY TELL ME TIIOU'RT THE FAVOUR'D GUEST.' 

Tiiey tell me thou'rt the favour'd guest 
Of every fair and brilliant throng ; 

No wit like thine to wake the jest, 

No voice like thine to breathe the song ; 

And none could guess, so gay thou art, 

That thou and I are far apart. 

Alas ! alas ! how difF'rent flows 
With thee and me the time away ! 

1 Part of a translation of some Latin verses, supposed to have been 
addressed by Hippolyta Taurella to her husband, during his absence 
at the gay court of Leo the Tenth. The verses may be found in the 
Appendix to Eoscoe's Work. 



SONGS AND BALLADS. 155 

Not that I wish thee sad — heav'n knows — 

Still if thou canst, be light and gay ; 
I only know, that without thee 
The sun himself is dark to me. 

Do I thus haste to hall and bower, 
Among the proud and gay to shine ? 

Or deck my hair with gem and flower, 
To flatter other eyes than thine ? 

Ah, no, with me love's smiles are past. 

Thou hadst the first, thou hadst the last. 



THE YOUNG INDIAN MAID. 

There came a nymph dancing 

Gracefully, gracefully, 
Her eye a light glancing 

Like the blue sea ; 
And while all this gladness 

Around her steps hung, 
Such sweet notes of sadness 

Her gentle lips sung, 
That ne'er while I live from my mem'ry shall fade 
The song, or the look, of that young Indian maid. 

Her zone of bells ringing 

Cheerily, cheerily, 
Chimed to her singing 

Light echos of glee ; 



156 SONGS AND BALLADS. 

But in vain did she borrow 

Of mirth the gay tone, 
Her voice spoke of sorrow, 
And sorrow alone. 
Nor e'er while I live from my mem'ry shall fade 
The song, or the look, of that young Indian maid. 



THE HOMEWARD MARCH. 

Be still, my heart : I hear them come : 
Those sounds announce my lover near : 

The march that brings our warriors home 
Proclaims he'll soon be here. 

Hark, the distant tread, 

O'er the mountain's head, 
"While hills and dales repeat the sound ; 

And the forest deer 

Stand still to hear, 
As those echoing steps ring round. 

Be still, my heart, I hear them come, 

Those sounds that speak my soldier near ; 

Those joyous steps seem wing'd for home, — 
Rest, rest, he'll soon be here. 

But hark, more faint the footsteps grow, 
And now they wind to distant glades ; 

Not here their home, — alas, they go 
To gladden happier maids * 



SONGS AND BALLADS. 157 

Like sounds in a dream, 

The footsteps seem, 
As down the hills they die away ; 

And the march, whose song 

So peel'd along, 
Now fades like a funeral lay. 

Tis past, 'tis o'er, — hush, heart, thy pain ! 

And though not here, alas, they come 
Rejoice for those, to whom that strain 

Brings sons and lovers home. 



WAKE UP, SWEET MELODY. 

Wake up, sweet melody ! 

Now is the hour 
When young and loving hearts 
Feel most thy pow'r. 
One note of music, by moonlight's soft ray 
Oh, 'tis worth thousands heard coldly by day, 
Then wake up, sweet melody ! 

Now is the hour 
When young and loving hearts 
Feel most thy pow'r. 

Ask the fond nightingale, 
When his sweet flow'r 

Loves most to hear his song, 
In her green bow'r ? 



158 BONGS AND BALLADS. 

Oh, he will tell tliee, through summer-nights long, 
Fondly she lends her whole soul to his song. 
Then wake up, sweet melody ! 

Now is the hour 
When young and loving hearts 
Feel most thy pow'r. 



CALM BE THY SLEEI\ 

Calm be thy sleep as infants' slumbers ! 

Pure as angel thoughts thy dreams ! 
May ev'ryjoy this bright world numbers 

Shed o'er thee their mingled beams ! 
Or if, where Pleasure's wing hath glided, 

There ever must some pang remain, 
Still be thy lot with me divided, — 

Thine all the bliss, and mine the pain ! 

Day and night my thoughts shall hover 

Round thy steps where'er they stray; 
As, ev'n when clouds his idol cover, 

Fondly the Persian tracks its way. 
If this be wrong, if Heav'n offended 

By worship to its creature be, 
Then let my vows to both be blended, 

Half breatb'd to Heav'n and half to thee. 



SONGS AND BALLADS. 159 

THE EXILE. 

Night waneth fast, the morning star 

Saddens with light the glimm'ring sea, 
Whose waves shall soon to realms afar 

"Waft me from hope, from love, and thee. 
Coldly the beam from yonder sky 

Looks o'er the waves that onward stray ; 
But colder still the stranger's eye 

To him whose home is far away. 

Oh, not at hour so chill and bleak, 

Let thoughts of me come o'er thy breast ; 
But of the lost one think and speak, 

When summer suns sink calm to rest. 
So, as I wander, Fancy's dream 

Shall bring me o'er the sunset seas, 
Thy look, in ev'ry melting beam, 

Thy whisper, in each dying breeze. 



THE FANCY FAIR. 

Cojie, maids and youths, for here we sell 
All wondrous things of earth and air , 

Whatever wild romancers tell, 
Or poets sing, or lovers swear, 
You'll find at this our Fancy Fair. 



Here eyes are made like stars to shine, 
And kept, for years, in such repair 



1(50 SONGS AND BALLADS. 

That ev'n when turn'd of thirty-nine, 

They'll hardly look the worse for wear, 
If bought at this our Fancy Fair. 

We've lots of tears for bards to show'r, 
And hearts that such ill usage bear, 

That, though they're broken ev'ry hour, 
They'll still in rhyme fresh breaking bear, 
If purchas'd at our Fancy Fair. 

As fashions change in ev'ry thing, 

We've goods to suit each season's air, 

Eternal friendships for the spring, 

And endless loves for summer wear, — 
All sold at this our Fancy Fair. 

We've reputations white as snow, 
That long will last if us'd with care, 

Nay, safe through all life's journey go, 

If pack'd and mark'd as "brittle ware," — 
Just purchas'd at the Fancy Fair. 



IF THOU WOULD'ST HAVE ME SING AND PLAY. 

If thou would'st have me sing and play, 

As once I play'd and sung, 
First take this timeworn lute away, 

And bring one freshly strung. 
Call back the time when pleasure's sigh 

First breath'd among the strings ; 
And Time himself, in flitting by, 

Made music with his win^s. 



SONGS AND BALLADS. 161 

But how is this? though new the lute, 

And shining fresh the chords, 
Beneath this hand they slumber mute, 

Or speak but dreamy words. 
In vain I seek the soul that dwelt 

Within that once sweet shell, 
Which told so warmly what it felt, 

And felt what nought could tell. 

Oh, ask not then for passion's lay, 

From lyre so coldly strung; 
With this I ne'er can sing or play, 

As once I play'd and sung. 
No, bring that long-lov'd lute again, — 

Though chill'd by years it be, 
If thou wilt call the slumb'ring strain, 

'Twill wake again for thee. 

Though time have froz'n the tuneful stream 

Of thoughts that gush'd along, 
One look from thee, like summer's beam, 

Will thaw them into song. 
Then give, oh give, that wak'ning ray, 

And once more blythe and young, 
Thy bard again will sing and play, 

As once he play'd and sung. 



STILL WHEN DAYLIGHT. 

Still when daylight o'er the wave 
Bright and soft its farewell gave, 

M 



162 SONGS AND BALLADS. 

I us'd to hear, while light was foiling, 
O'er the wave a sweet voice calling, 
Mournfully at distance calling. 

Ah ! once how blest that maid would come, 
To meet her sea-boy hast'ning home ; 
And through the night those sounds repeating 
Hail his bark with joyous greeting, 
Joyously his light bark greeting. 

But, one sad night, when winds were high, 
Nor earth, nor heaven, could hear her cry, 
She saw his boat come tossing over 
Midnight's wave, — but not her lover! 
No, never more her lover. 

And still that sad dream loth to leave, 
She comes with wand'ring mind at eve, 
And oft we hear, when night is falling, 
Faint her voice through twilight calling, 
Mournfully at twilight calling. 



THE SUMMER WEBS. 

The summer webs that float and shine, 

The summer dews that fall, 
Though light they be, this heart of mine 

Is lighter still than all. 









SONGS AND BALLADS. 163 

It tells me every cloud is past 

Which lately seem'd to lour ; 
That Hope hath wed young Joy at last, 

And now's their nuptial hour ! 

With light thus round, within, above, 

With nought to wake one sigh, 
Except the wish, that all we love 

Were at this moment nigh, — 
It seems as if life's brilliant sun 

Had stopp'd in full career, 
To make this hour its brightest one, 
And rest in radiance here. 



MIND NOT THOUGH DAYLIGHT. 

Mind not though daylight around us is breaking, — 
Who'd think now of sleeping when morn's but just 

waking ? 
Sound the merry viol, and daylight or not, 
Be all for one hour in the gay dance forgot. 

See young Aurora, up heaven's hill advancing, 
Though fresh from her pillow, ev'n she too is dancing : 
While thus all creation, earth, heaven, and sea, 
Are dancing around us, oh, why should not we ? 

Who'll say that moments we use thus are wasted ? 
Such sweet drops of time only flow to be tasted ; 
While hearts are high beating, and harps full in tune, 
The fault is all morning's for coming so soon. 



164 SONGS AND BALLADS. 



THEY MET BUT ONCE. 

They met but once, in youth's sweet hour, 

And never since that day 
Hath absence, time, or grief had pow'r 

To chase that dream away. 
They've seen the suns of other skies, 

On other shores have sought delight ; 
But never more, to bless their eyes, 

Can come a dream so bright ! 
They met but once, — a day was all 

Of Love's young hopes they knew ; 
And still their hearts that day recall. 

As fresh as then it flew. 

Sweet dream of youth ! oh, ne'er again 

Let either meet the brow 
They left so smooth and smiling then, 

Or see what it is now. 
For, Youth, the spell was only thine ; 

From thee alone th' enchantment flows, 
That makes the world around thee shine 

With light thyself bestows. 
They met but once, — oh, ne'er again 

Let either meet the brow 
They left so smooth and smiling then, 

Or see what it is now. 



SONGS AND BALLADS. 165 

WITH MOONLIGHT BEAMING. 

"With moonlight beaming 

Thus o'er the deep, 
Who'd linger dreaming 

In idle sleep ? 
Leave joyless souls to live by day, — 
Our life begins with yonder ray ; 
And while thus brightly 

The moments flee, 
Our barks skim lightly 

The shining sea. 

To halls of splendour 

Let great ones hie ; 
Through light more tender 

Our pathways lie. 
"While round, from banks of brook or lake, 
Our company blithe echos make ; 
And, as we lend 'em 

Sweet word or strain, 
Still back they send 'em 

More sweet, again. 



CHILD'S SONG. FROM A MASQUE. 

I have a garden of my own, 

Shining with flow'rs of ev'ry hue ; 

I lov'd it dearly while alone 

But I shall love it more with you : 

M 3 



166 SONGS AND BALLADS. 

And there the golden bees shall come, 
In summer-time at break of morn, 

And wake us with their busy hum 
Around the Siha's fragrant thorn. 

I have a fawn from Aden's land, 

On leafy buds and berries nurst ; 
And you shall feed him from your hand, 

Though he may start with fear at first. 
And I will lead you where he lies 

For shelter in the noontide heat ; 
And you may touch his sleeping eyes, 

And feel his little silv'ry feet. 



THE HALCYON HANGS O'ER OCEAN. 

The halcyon hangs o'er ocean, 
The sea-lark skims the brine ; 

This bright world's all in motion, 
No heart seems sad but mine. 

To walk through sun-bright places, 
With heart all cold the while ; 

To look in smiling faces, 

When we no more can smile ; 

To feel, while earth and heaven 
Around thee shine with bliss, 

To thee no light is given, — 
Oh, what a doom is this ! 



SONGS AND BALLADS. 167 



THE WORLD WAS HITSH'D. 

The world was hush'd, the moon above 

Sail'd through ether slowly, 
When, near the casement of my love, 

Thus I whisper'd lowly, — 
" Awake, awake, how canst thou sleep ? 

" The field I seek to-morrow 
" Is one where man hath fame to reap, 

" And woman gleans but sorrow." 

" Let battle's field be what it may," 

Thus spoke a voice replying, 
" Think not thy love, while thou'rt away. 

" Will here sit idly sighing. 
" No — woman's souk if not for fame, 

" For love can brave all danger ! " 
Then forth from out the casement came 

A plum'd and armed stranger. 

A stranger ? No ; 'twas she, the maid, 

Herself before me beaming, 
With casque array'd, and falchion blade 

Beneath her girdle gleaming ! 
Close side by side, in freedom's fight, 

That blessed morning found us ; 
In Vict'ry's light we stood ere night, 

And Love, the morrow, crown'd us ! 



168 SONGS AND BALLADS. 



THE TWO LOVES. 

There are two Loves, the poet sings, 

Both born of Beauty at a birth : 
The one, akin to heaven, hath wings, 

The other, earthly, walks on earth. 
With this through bowers below we play, 

With that through clouds above we soar ; 
With both, perchance, may lose our way : — 
Then, tell me which, 

Tell^ me which shall we adore ? 

The one, when tempted down from air, 

At Pleasure's fount to lave his lip, 
Nor lingers long, nor oft will dare 

His wing within the wave to dip. 
While, plunging deep and long beneath, 

The other bathes him o'er and o'er 

In that sweet current, ev'n to death : — 

Then, tell me which, 

Tell me which shall we adore ? 

The boy of heav'n, even while he lies 

In Beauty's lap, recalls his home ; 
And when most happy, inly sighs 

For something happier still to come. 
While he of earth, too fully blest 

With this bright world to dream of more, 
Sees all his heav'n on Beauty's breast : — 
Then, tell me which, 

Tell me which shall we adore? 



SONGS AND BALLADS. 169 

The maid who heard the poet sing 

These twin-desires of earth and sky, 
And saw, while one inspir'd his string, 

The other glisten'd in his eye, — 
To name the earthlier boy asham'd, 

To choose the other fondly loath, 
At length, all blushing, she exclaim'd, — 
" Ask not which, 

" Oh, ask not which — we'll worship both. 

" Th' extremes of each thus taught to shun, 

" "With hearts and souls between them given, 
" When weary of this earth with one, 

" "We'll with the other wing to heaven." 
Thus pledg'd the maid her vow of bliss ; 

And while one Love wrote down the oath, 
The other seal'd it with a kiss ; 
And Heav'n look'd on, 

Heav'n look'd on, and hallow'd both. 



THE LEGEND OF PUCK THE EALRY. 

Wouldst know what tricks, by the pale moonlight, 
Are play'd by me, the merry little Sprite, 
Who wing through air from the camp to the court, 
From king to clown, and of all make sport ; 

Singing, I am the Sprite 

Of the merry midnight, 
"Who laugh at weak mortals, and love the moonlight. 



170 SONGS AND BALLADS. 

To a miser's bed, where lie snoring slept 
And dreamt of his cash, I slily crept ; 
Chink, chink o'er his pillow like money I rang, 
And he waked to catch — but away I sprang, 
Singing, I am the Sprite, &c. 

I saw through the leaves, in a damsel's bower, 
She was waiting her love at that starlight hour : 
" Hist — hist!" quoth I, with an amorous sigh, 
And she flew to the door, but away flew I, 
Singing, I am the Sprite, &c. 

While a bard sat inditing an ode to his love, 

Like a pair of blue meteors I star'd from above, 

And he swoon'd — for he thought 'twas the ghost, poor 

man ! 
Of his lady's eyes, while away I ran, 

Singing, I am the Sprite, &c. 



BEAUTY AND SONG. 

Down in yon summer vale, 

Where the rill flows, 
Thus said a Nightingale 
To his lov'd Rose: — 
" Though rich the pleasures 
" Of song's sweet measures, 
" Vain were its melody, 
" Rose, without thee."- 



SONGS AND BALLADS. 171 

Then from the green recess 

Of her night-bow'r, 
Beaming with bashfulness, 

Spoke the bright flow'r : — 
" Though morn should lend her 
" Its sunniest splendour, 
" What would the Eose be, 
" Unsung by thee ? " 

Thus still let Song attend 

"Woman's bright way ; 
Thus still let woman lend 

Light to the lay. 
Like stars, through heaven's sea, 
Floating in harmony, 
Beauty shall glide along, 
Circled by Song. 



WHEN THOU AKT NIGH. 

When thou art nigh, it seems 

A new creation round ; 
The sun hath fairer beams, 

The lute a softer sound. 
Though thee alone I see, 

And hear alone thy sigh, 
'Tis light, 'tis song to me, 

'Tis all — when thou art nigh. 

When thou art nigh, no thought 
Of grief comes o'er my heart ; 



172 SONGS AND BALLADS. 

I only think — could aught 
But joy be where thou art ? 

Life seems a waste of breath, 
"When far from thee I sigh ; 

And death — ay, even death 
Were sweet, if thou wert nigh. 



SONG OF AHYPEKBOKEAN. 

I come from a land in the sun-bright deep, 

Where golden gardens grow ; 
Where the winds of the north, becalm'd in sleep, 
Their conch-shells never blow. 1 
Haste to that holy Isle with me. 
Haste — haste! 

So near the track of the stars are we, 2 

That oft, on night's pale beams, 
The distant sounds of their harmony 

Come to our ears, like dreams. 

Then, haste to that holy Isle with me, &c. &c. 

The Moon, too, brings her world so nigh, 3 
That when the night seer looks 

1 On the tower of the Winds, at Athens, there is a conch-shell placed 
in the hands of Boreas. — See Stuart's Antiquities. "The north 
wind," says Herodotus, in speaking of the Hyperboreans, "never 
blows with them." 

2 "Sub ipso siderum cardine jacent." — Pompon. Mela. 

3 " They can shew the moon very near." — Diodok. Sicul. 



SONGS AND BALLADS. 173 

To that shadowless orb, in a vernal sky, 
He can number its hills and brooks. 

Then, haste, &c. &e. 

To the Sun-god all our hearts and lyres 1 

By day, by night, belong ; 
And the breath we draw from his living fires, 

We give him back in song. 

Then, haste, &c. &c. 

From us descends the maid who brings 

To Delos gifts divine ; 
And our wild bees lend their rainbow wings 
To glitter on Delphi's shrine. 2 

Then, haste to that holy Isle with me, 
Haste — haste! 



THOU BIDST ME SING. 

Thou bidst me sing the lay I sung to thee 

In other days, ere joy had left this brow ; 
But think, though still unchang'd the notes may be, 

How diff 'rent feels the heart that breathes them now ! 
The rose thou wear'st to-night is still the same 

"We saw this morning on its stem so gay ; 
But, ah ! that dew of dawn, that breath which came 

Like life o'er all its leaves, hath pass'd away. 

1 Hecatasus tells us, that this Hyperborean island was dedicated to 
Apollo ; and most of the inhabitants were either priests or songsters. 

2 Pausan. 



174 SONGS AND BALLADS. 

Since first thy music touch'd thy heart and mine, 

How many a joy and pain o'er both have past,— 
The joy, a light too precious long to shine, 

The pain, a cloud whose shadows always last. 
And though that lay would like the voice of home 

Breathe o'er our ear, 'twould waken now a sigh 
Ah! not, as then, for fancied woes to come, 

But, sadder far, for real bliss gone by. 

CUPID ARMED. 
Place the helm on thy brow, 
In thy hand take the spear ; 
Thou art arm'd, Cupid, now, 
And thy battle-hour is near. 
March on ! march on ! thy shaft and bow 

Were weak against such charms ; 
March on ! march on ! so proud a foe 
Scorns all but martial arms. 

See the darts in her eyes, 

Tipt with scorn, how they shine ' 
Ev'ry shaft, as it flies, 

Mocking proudly at thine. 
March on ! march on ! thy feather'd darts 

Soft bosoms soon might move ; 
But ruder arms to ruder hearts 
Must teach what 'tis to love. 
Place the helm on thy brow ; 

In thy hand take the spear, — 
Thou art arm'd, Cupid, now, 

And thy battle-hour is near. 



SONGS AND BALLADS. 175 



BOUND THE WOELD GOES. 

Round the world goes, by clay and night, 

While with it also round go we ; 
And in the flight of one day's light 

An image of all life's course we see. 
Round, round, while thus we go round, 

The best thing a man can do, 
Is to make it, at least, a merry-go-round, 

By — sending the wine round too. 

Oar first gay stage of life is when 

Youth, in its dawn, salutes the eye — 
Season of bliss ! Oh, who wouldn't then 

Wish to cry, " Stop ! " to earth and sky ? 
But, round, round, both boy and girl 

Are whisk'd through that sky of blue ; 
And much would their hearts enjoy the whirl, 

If — their heads didn't whirl round too. 

Next, we enjoy our glorious noon, 

Thinking all life a life of light ; 
But shadows come on, 'tis evening soon, 

And, ere we can say, " How short!" — 'tis night. 
Round, round, still all goes round, 

Ev'n while I'm thus singing to you ; 
And the best way to make it a merry-go-round, 

Is to — chorus my song round too. 



176 SONGS AND BALLADS. 



OH, DO NOT LOOK SO BRIGHT AND BLEST. 

Oh, do not look so bright and blest, 

For still there comes a fear, 
When brow like thine looks happiest, 

That grief is then most near. 
There lurks a dread in all delight, 

A shadow near each ray, 
That warns us then to fear their flight, 

When most we wish their stay. 
Then look not thou so bright and blest, 

For ah ! there comes a fear, 
When brow like thine looks happiest, 

That grief is then most near. 

Why is it thus that fairest things 

The soonest fleet and die ? — 
That when most light is on their wings, 

They're then but spread to fly ! 
And, sadder still, the pain will stay — 

The bliss no more appears ; 
As rainbows take their light away, 

And leave us but the tears ! 
Then look not thou so bright and blest, 

For ah ! there comes a fear, 
When brow like thine looks happiest, 

That grief is then most near. 



SONGS AND BALLADS. 177 

THE MUSICAL BOX. 

" Look here,'' said Rose, with laughing eyes, 

" Within this box, by magic hid, 
" A tuneful Sprite imprison'd lies, 

i( "Who sings to me whene'er he's bid. 
" Though roving once his voice and wing, 

" He'll now lie still the whole day long ; 
" Till thus I touch the magic spring — 

" Then, hark, how sweet and blithe his song !" 

(A symphony.) 

" Ah, Rose," I cried, " the poet's lay 

" Must ne'er ev'n Beauty's slave become ; 
" Through earth and air his song may stray, 

" If all the while his heart's at home. 
" And though in Freedom's air he dwell, 

" Nor bond nor chain his spirit knows, 
" Touch but the spring thou know'st so well, 

"And — hark, how sweet the love-song flows!" 

(A symphony.) 

Thus pleaded I for Freedom's right ; 

But when young Beauty takes the field, 
And wise men seek defence in flight, 

The doom of poets is to yield. 
No more my heart th' enchantress braves, 

I'm now in Beauty's prison hid ; 
The Sprite and I are fellow-slaves, 

And I, too, sing whene'er I'm bid. 



"8 SONGS AND BALLADS. 

WHEN TO SAD MUSIC SILENT YOU LISTEN. 

"When to sad Music silent you listen, 

And tears on those eyelids tremble like dew, 
Oh, then there dwells in those eyes as they glisten 

A sweet holy charm that mirth never knew. 
But when some lively strain resounding 

Lights up the sunshine of joy on that brow, 
Then the young rein-deer o'er the hills bounding 

"Was ne'er in its mirth so graceful as thou. 

When on the skies at midnight thou gazest, 

A lustre so pure thy features then wear, 
That, when to some star that bright eye thou raisest, 

"We feel 'tis thy home thou'rt looking for there. 
But, when the word for the gay dance is given, 

So buoyant thy spirit, so heartfelt thy mirth, 
Oh then we exclaim, " Ne'er leave earth for heaven, 

" But linger still here, to make heaven of earth." 



THE LANGUAGE OF FLOWEKS. 

Fly swift, my light gazelle, 

To her who now lies waking, 
To hear thy silver bell 

The midnight silence breaking. 
And, when thou com'st, with gladsome feet, 

Beneath her lattice springing, 
Ah, well she'll know how sweet 

The words of love thou'rt bringing. 



SONGS AND BALLADS. 179 

Yet, no — not words, for they 

But half can tell love's feeling ; 
Sweet flowers alone can say 

What passion fears revealing. 
A once bright rose's wither'd leaf, 

A tow'ring lily broken, — 
Oh these may paint a grief 

No words could e'er have spoken. 

Not such, my gay gazelle, 

The wreath thou speedest over 
Yon moonlight dale, to tell 

My lady how I love her. 
And, what to her will sweeter be 

Than gems the richest, rarest, 
From Truth's immortal tree 1 

One fadeless leaf thou bearest. 



THE DAWN IS BREAKING O'ER US. 

The dawn is breaking o'er us, 
See, heaven hath caught its hue ! 

"We've day's long light before us, 
What sport shall we pursue ? 

The hunt o'er hill and lea ? 

The sail o'er summer sea? 

Oh let not hour so sweet 

Unwing'd by pleasure fleet. 

The tree, called in the East, Amrita, or the Immortal. 



l!SO SONGS AND BALLADS. 

The dawn is breaking o'er us, 
See, heaven hath caught its hue ! 

We've day's long light before us, 
What sport shall we pursue ? 

But see, while we're deciding, 

What morning sport to play, 
The dial's hand is gliding, 

And morn hath pass'd away ! 
Ah, who'd have thought that noon 
Would o'er us steal so soon, — 
That morn's sweet hour of prime 
Would last so short a time ? 
But come, we've day before us, 

Still heaven looks bright and blue ; 
Quick, quick, ere eve comes o'er us, 

What sport shall we pursue ? 

Alas ! why thus delaying ? 

We're now at evening's hour ; 
Its farewell beam is playing 

O'er hill and wave and bower. 
That light we thought would last, 
Behold, ev'n now, 'tis past ; 
And all our morning dreams 
Have vanish'd with its beams ! 
But come ! 'twere vain to borrow 

Sad lessons from this lay, 
For man will be to-morrow — 

Just what he's been to-day. 



SONGS AND BALLADS. 181 

HERE AT THY TOMB. 1 

BY MELEAGEK. 

Here, at thy tomb, these tears I shed, 

Tears, which though vainly now they roll, 

Are all love hath to give the dead, 

And wept o'er thee with all love's soul ; — = 

Wept in remembrance of that light, 

Which nought on earth, without thee, gives, 

Hope of my heart ! now quench'd in night, 
But dearer, dead, than aught that lives. 

Where is she ? where the blooming bough 
That once my life's sole lustre made ? 

Torn off by death, 'tis with'ring now, 
And all its flow'rs in dust are laid. 

Oh earth ! that to thy matron breast 

Hast taken all those angel charms, 
Gently, I pray thee, let her rest, — 

Gently, as in a mother's arms. 



SALE OF CUPID. 2 

BT MEI,EAGER. 

Who'll buy a little boy ? Look, yonder is he, 
Fast asleep, sly rogue, on his mother's knee ; 

Aarcpva (rot kcu. vepde Sia x^ovos, HMoSwpa. 

Ap. Beunck. 
TluKeicrdoo, /cat fiarpos er ev KoXitoicri KaOevSoov. 

Ap. Bbunck. Analect. xcv. 
k 3 



182 SONGS AND BALLADS. 

So bold a young imp 'tisn't safe to keep, 

So I'll part with him now, while he's sound asleep. 

See his arch little nose, how sharp 'tis curl'd, 

His wings, too, ev'n in sleep unfurl'd ; 

And those fingers, which still ever ready are found 

For mirth or for mischief, to tickle, or wound. 

He'll try with his tears your heart to beguile, 
But never you mind — he's laughing all the while ; 
For little he cares, so he has his own whim, 
And weeping or laughing are all one to him. 
His eye is as keen as the lightning's flash, 
His tongue like the red bolt quick and rash ; 
And so savage is he, that his own dear mother 
Is scarce more safe in his hands than another. 

In short, to sum up this darling's praise, 
He's a downright pest in all sorts of ways ; 
And if any one wants such an imp to employ, 
He shall have a dead bargain of this little boy. 
But see, the boy wakes — his bright tears flow — 
His eyes seem to ask could I sell him ? oh, no, 
Sweet child, no, no — though so naughty you be, 
You shall live evermore with my Lesbia and me. 



TO WEAVE A GARLAND FOR TPEE ROSE. 

BY PAUL, THE SILENTIART. 

To weave a garland for the rose, 

And think thus crown'd 'twould lovelier be, 

Oure poBiau crrecpavcov emfieveaai, ovre crv imrXuiv. 

Ap. Brunck. xvii. 



SOXGS AND BALLADS. 183 

Were far less vain than to suppose 
That silks and gems add grace to thee. 

Where is the pearl whose orient lustre 
Would not, beside thee, look less bright ? 

What gold could match the glossy cluster 
Of those young ringlets full of light ? 

Bring from the land, where fresh it gleams, 

The bright blue gem of India's mine, 
And see how soon, though bright its beams, 

'Twill pale before one glance of thine : 
Those lips, too, when their sounds have blest us 

With some divine, mellifluous air, 
Who would not say that Beauty's cestus 

Had let loose all its witeh'ries there ? 1 

Here, to this conquering host of charms 

I now give up my spell-bound heart, 
Nor blush to yield ev'n Reason's arms, 

When thou her bright-ey'd conqueror art. 
Thus to the wind all fears are given ; 

Henceforth those eyes alone I see, 
Where Hope, as in her own blue heaven, 

Sits beck'ning me to bliss and thee ! 



Kai 7) jXi\l(pVpTOS (KeiVT) 

H0cos apjxovirj, KeffTos ecpv Tia<pLTjs. 



IS 4 SONGS AND BALLADS. 

WHY DOES SHE SO LONG DELAY? 1 

BT PAUL, THE SILENTIAKY. 

Why does she so long delay? 
Night is waning fast away ; 
Thrice have I my lamp renew'd, 
Watching here in solitude. 
Where can she so long delay ? 
Where, so long delay ? 

Vainly now have two lamps shone ; 
See the third is nearly gone : 2 
Oh that Love would, like the ray 
Of that weary lamp, decay ! 
But no, alas, it hums still on, 
Still, still, burns on. 

Gods, how oft the traitress dear 
Swore, by Venus, she'd be here! 
But to one so false as she 
What is man or deity ? 
Neither doth this proud one fear, — 
No, neither doth she fear. 



A7]Qvvn KAcocpavTis. 

Ap. Brunck. xxviii. 
o 5e rpiros apx^rai ?jSe 
Avxvos vTTOKAa£eiv. 



SONGS AND BALLADS. 185 



TWIN'ST THOU WITH LOFTY WREATH THY BROW ? ' 

ET PAUL, THE SILENTIARY. 

Twin'st thou with lofty wreath thy brow ? 

Such glory then thy beauty sheds, 
I almost think, while aw'd I bow, 

'Tis Rhea's self before me treads. 
Be what thou wilt — this heart 
Adores whate'er thou art! 

Dost thou thy loosen'd ringlets leave, 
Like sunny waves to wander free? 

Then, such a chain of charms they weave, 
As draws my inmost soul from me. 

Do what thou wilt, — I must 

Be charm'd by all thou dost ! 

Ev'n when, enwrapp'd in silv'ry veils, 2 
Those sunny locks elude the sight, — 

Oh, not ev'n then their glory fails 
To haunt me with its unseen light. 

Change as thy beauty may, 

It charms in ev'ry way. 

For, thee the Graces still attend, 
Presiding o'er each new attire, 



KeKpvcpaAoi crcpiyyovat Terjv rpixa ; 

Ap. Beunck. xxxiv. 
Apyevvals oOovqai KaTrjopa fioffrpvxa «ei/0eis. 



186 SONGS AND BALLADS. 

And lending ev'ry dart they send 

Some new, peculiar touch of fire. 
Be what thou wilt, — this heart 
Adores whate'er thou art ! 



WHEN THE SAD WORD. 1 

1ST PAUL, THE SILENTIARY. 

When the sad word, " Adieu/' from my lip is nigh falling, 

And with it, Hope passes away, 
Ere the tongue hath half breathed it, my fond heart re- 
calling 

That fatal farewell, bids me stay. 
For oh ! 'tis a penance so weary 

One hour from thy presence to be, 
That death to this soul were less dreary, 

Less dark than long absence from thee. 

Thy beauty, like Day, o'er the dull world breaking, 

Brings life to the heart it shines o'er, 
And, in mine, a new feeling of happiness waking 

Made light what was darkness before. 
But mute is the Day's sunny glory, 

While thine hath a voice, 2 on whose breath, 
More sweet than the Syren's sweet story, 3 

My hopes hang, through life and through death ! 

Soi^eo ctol /neWcuv everetv. 

Ap. Brunck. xxxix. 
HfiaTL yap o~eo cpeyyos 6fj.ouov. aWa to fj.ei> -kov 
A<p6oyyov. 

2u 8' e/xoi Kat to \a\rjfj.a (pepets 
Keivo, to ^etpijvuv yAvKvepaiTepov. 






SONGS AND BALLADS. 18* 

MY MOPSA IS LITTLE.' 

BY PHILODEMUS. 

My Mopsa is little, my Mopsa is brown, 

But her cheek is as smooth as the peach's soft down, 

And, for blushing, no rose can come near her ; 
In short, she has woven such nets round my heart, 
That I ne'er from my dear little Mopsa can part, — 

Unless I can find one that's dearer. 

Her voice hath a music that dwells on the ear, 
And her eye from its orb gives a daylight so clear, 

That I'm dazzled whenever I meet her ; 
Her ringlets, so curly, are Cupid's own net, 
And her lips, oh their sweetness I ne'er shall forget — 

Till I light upon lips that are sweeter. 

But 'tis not her beauty that charms me alone, 

'Tis her mind, 'tis that language whose elocpuent tone 

From the depths of the grave could revive one : 
In short, here I swear, that if death were her doom, 
I would instantly join my dead love in the tomb — 

Unless I could meet with a live one. 



STILL, LIKE DEW IN SILENCE FALLING. 1 

BY MELEAGER. 

Still, like dew in silence falling, 
Drops for thee the nightly tear ; 

MiKprj Kai fieAavevcra $iAivviov. 

Ap. Brunck. x. 
Am jxoi dwei jxev ev ovacriv 7?x os Eparros. 

Ap. Beunck. liii. 



188 SONGS AND BALLADS. 

Still that voice the past recalling, 
Dwells, like echo, on my ear, 
Still, still ! 

Day and night the spell hangs o'er me, 
Here for ever fix'd thou art ; 

As thy form first shone before me, 
So 'tis graven on this heart, 
Deep, deep! 

Love, oh Love, whose bitter sweetness, 
Dooms me to this lasting pain, 

Thou who cam'st with so much fleetness 
Why so slow to go again ? l 
Why? why? 



UP, SAILOK BOY, 'TIS DAY. 

Up, sailor boy, 'tis day! 

The west wind blowing, 

The spring tide flowing, 
Summon thee hence away. 
Didst thou not hear yon soaring swallow sing? 
Chirp, chirp, — in every note he seem'd to say 
'Tis Spring, 'tis Spring. 
Up, boy, away, — 
Who'd stay on land to-day? 

fl irravoi, fir] Kai ttot etynrraaOo.i /j.gv, Epoores, 
OiSut, airoirT7)va.i 8' ou5' baov ic^t/ere. 






SONGS AXD BALLADS. 189 

The very flowers 
"Would from their bowers 
Delight to wing away ! 

Leave languid youths to pine 

On silken pillows ; 

But be the billows 
Of the great deep thine. 

Hark, to the sail the breeze sings, "Let us fly;" 
While soft the sail, replying to the breeze, 
Says, with a yielding sigh, 
" Yes, where you please." 
Up, boy ! the wind, the ray, 

The blue sky o'er thee, 

The deep before thee, 
All cry aloud, "Away!" 



IN MYKTLE WREATHS. 

BT ALOffiUS. 

In myrtle wreaths my votive sword I'll cover, 

Like them of old whose one immortal blow 
Struck off the galling fetters that hung over 

Their own bright land, and laid her tyrant low. 
Yes, lov'd Harmodius, thou'rt undying ; 

Still midst the brave and free, 
In isles, o'er ocean lying, 

Thy home shall ever be. 



190 SONGS AND BALLADS. 

In myrtle leaves my sword shall hide its lightning, 

Like his, the youth, whose ever-glorious blade 
Leap'd forth like flame, the midnight banquet bright'ning 

And in the dust a despot victim laid. 
Blest youths, how bright in Freedom's story 

Your wedded names shall be ; 
A tyrant's death your glory, 

Your meed a nation free ! 



ASK NOT IF STILL I LOVE. 

Ask not if still I love, 

Too plain these eyes have told thee 
Too well their tears must prove 

How near and dear I hold thee. 
If, where the brightest shine, 
To see no form but thine, 
To feel that earth can show 

No bliss above thee, — 
If this be love, then know 

That thus, that thus, I love thee. 



'Tis not in pleasure's idle hour 

That thou canst know affection's pow'r. 

No, try its strength in grief or pain ; 

Attempt, as now, its bonds to sever, 
Thou'lt find true love's a chain 

That binds for ever ! 









SONGS AND BALLADS. 191 

DEAR? YES. 

Dear ? yes, though mine no more, 

Ev'n this but makes thee dearer ; 
And love, since hope is o'er, 

But draws thee nearer. 

Change as thou wilt to me, 
The same thy charm must be 
New loves may come to weave 

Their witch'ry o'er thee, 
Yet still, though false, believe 

That I adore thee, yes, still adore thee. 
Think'st thou that aught but death could end 
A tie not falsehood's self can rend ? 
No, when alone, far off I die, 

No more to see, no more caress thee, 
Ev'n then, my life's last sigh 

Shall be to bless thee, yes, still to bless thee. 



UNBIND THEE, LOVE. 

Unbind thee, love, unbind thee, love, 

From those dark ties unbind thee ; 
Though fairest hand the chain hath wove, 

Too long its links have twin'd thee. 
Away from earth! — thy wings were made 

In yon mid-sky to hover, 
With earth beneath their dove-like shade, 

And heav'n all radiant over. 



192 SONGS AND BALLADS. 

Awake thee, boy, awake thee, boy, 

Too long thy soul is sleeping ; 
And thou may'st from this minute's joy 

Wake to eternal weeping. 
Oh, think, this world is not for thee ; 

Though hard its links to sever ; 
Though sweet and bright and dear they be, 

Break, or thou'rt lost for ever. 



THERE'S SOMETHING STRANGE. 
(a buffo song.) 

There's something strange, I know not what, 

Come o'er me, 
Some phantom I've for ever got 

Before me. 
I look on high, and in the sky 

'Tis shining ; 
On earth, its light with all things bright 

Seems twining. 
In vain I try this goblin's spells 

To sever ; 
Go where I will, it round me dwells 

For ever. 

And then what tricks by day and night 

It plays me ; 
In ev'ry shape the wicked sprite 

Waylays me. 



SONGS AND BALLADS. 193 

Sometimes like two bright eyes of blue 

'Tis glancing ; 
Sometimes like feet, in slippers neat, 

Comes dancing. 
By whispers round of every sort 

I'm taunted. 
Never was mortal man, in short, 

So haunted. 



NOT FROM THEE. 

Not from thee the wound should come, 

No, not from thee. 
I care not what, or whence, my doom, 

So not from thee ! 
Cold triumph ! first to make 

This heart thy own ; 
And then the mirror break 
Where fix'd thou shin'st alone. 
Not from thee the wound should come, 

Oh, not from thee. 
I care not what, or whence, my doom, 

So not from thee. 

Yet no — my lips that wish recall ; 

From thee, from thee — 
If ruin o'er this head must fall, 

'Twill welcome be. 
Here to the blade I bare 

This faithful heart ; 
o 



194 SONGS AND BALLADS. 

Wound deep — thou'lt find that there, 
In every pulse thou art. 

Yes from thee I'll bear it all : 
If ruin be 

The doom that o'er this heart must fall, 
'Twere sweet from thee. 



GUESS, GUESS. 

I love a maid, a mystic maid. 

Whose form no eyes but mine can see ; 
She comes in light, she comes in shade, 

And beautiful in both is she. 
Her shape in dreams I oft behold, 

And oft she whispers in my ear 
Such words as when to others told, 

Awake the sigh, or wring the tear } — 
Then guess, guess, who she, 
The lady of my love, may be. 

I find the lustre of her brow 

Come o'er me in my darkest ways ; 
And feel as if her voice, ev'n now, 

Were echoing far off my lays. 
There is no scene of joy or woe 

But she doth gild with influence bright 
And shed o'er all so rich a glow, 

As makes ev'n tears seem full of light : 
Then guess, guess, who she, 
The lady of my love, may be. 






SONGS AND BALLADS. 195 

WHEN LOVE, WHO RUL'D. 

When Love, who rul'd as Admiral o'er 

His rosy mother's isles of light, 
Was cruising off the Paphian shore, 

A sail at sunset hove in sight : — 
" A chase, a chase ! my Cupids all," 
Said Love, the little Admiral. 

Aloft the winged sailors sprung, 

And, swarming up the mast like bees. 

The snow-white sails expanding flung, 
Like broad magnolias to the breeze. 

" Yo ho, yo ho, my Cupids all ! " 

Said Love, the little Admiral. 

The chase was o'er — the bark was caught, 
The winged crew her freight explor'd ; 

And found 'twas just as Love had thought, 
For all was contraband aboard. 

" A prize, a prize, my Cupids all ! " 

Said Love, the little Admiral. 

Safe stow'd in many a package there, 

And labell'd slyly o'er, as " Class," 
Were lots of all th' illegal ware, 

Love's Custom-House forbids to pass. 
" O'erhaul, o'erhaul, my Cupids all," 
Said Love, the little Admiral. 

False curls they found, of every hue, 
With rosy blushes ready made ; 



196 SONGS AND BALLADS. 

And teeth of ivory, good as new, 

For veterans in the smiling trade. 
" Ho ho, ho ho, my Cupids all," 
Said Love, the little Admiral. 

Mock sighs, too, — kept in bags for use, 
Like breezes bought of Lapland seers, — 

Lay ready here to be let loose, 

When wanted, in young spinsters' ears. 

" Ha ha, ha ha, my Cupids all," 

Said Love, the little Admiral. 

False papers next on board 'were found, 
Sham invoices of flames and darts, 

Professedly for Paphos bound, 

But meant for Hymen's golden marts. 

" For shame, for shame, my Cupids all ! " 

Said Love, the little Admiral. 

Nay, still to every fraud awake, 

Those pirates all Love's signals knew, 

And hoisted oft his flag to make 
Rich wards and heiresses bring to. 1 

" A foe, a foe, my Cupids all ! " 

Said Love, the little Admiral. 

" This must not be," the boy exclaims, 
" In vain I rule the Paphian seas, 

" If Love's and Beauty's sovereign names 
" Are lent to cover frauds like these. 

1 "To Bring-to, to check the course of a ship." — Falconer. 






SONGS AND BALLADS. 197 

" Prepare, prepare, my Cupids all ! " 
Said Love, the little Admiral. 

Each Cupid stood with lighted match — 
A broadside struck the smuggling foe, 

And swept the whole unhallowed batch 
Of falsehood to the depths below. 

" Huzza, huzza ! my Cupids all ! " 

Said Love, the little Admiral. 



STILL THOU FLLEST. 

Still thou fliest, and still I woo thee, 

Lovely phantom, — all in vain; 
Eestless ever, my thoughts pursue thee, 

Fleeting ever, thou mock'st their pain. 
Such doom, of old, that youth betided, 

Who woo'd, he thought, some angel's charms, 
But found a cloud that from him glided, — 

As thou dost from these outstretch'd arms. 

Scarce I've said, " How fair thou shinest," 

Ere thy light hath vanish'd by ; 
And 'tis when thou look'st divinest 

Thou art still more sure to fly. 
Ev'n as the light'ning, that, dividing 

The clouds of night, saith, " Look on me," 
Then flits again, its splendour hiding, — 

Ev'n such the glimpse I catch of thee. 



198 SONGS AND BALLADS. 

THEN FIRST FROM LOVE. 

Then first from Love, in Nature's bow'rs, 

Did Painting learn her fairy skill, 
And cull the hues of loveliest flow'rs, 

To picture woman lovelier still. 
For vain was every radiant hue, 

Till passion lent a soul to art, 
And taught the painter, ere he drew, 

To fix the model in his heart. 

Thus smooth his toil awhile went on, 

Till, lo, one touch his art defies ; 
The brow, the lip, the blushes shone, 

But who could dare to paint those eyes ? 
'Twas all in vain the painter strove ; 

So turning to that boy divine, 
" Here take," he said, " the pencil, Love, 

" No hand should paint such eyes, but thine. 



HUSH, SWEET LUTE. 

Hush, sweet Lute, thy songs remind me 

Of past joys, now turn'd to pain ; 
Of ties that long have ceased to bind me, 

But whose burning marks remain. 
In each tone, some echo falleth 

On my ear of joys gone by; 
Ev'ry note some dream recalleth 

Of bright hopes but born to die. 



SONGS AND BALLADS. 199 

Yet, sweet Lute, though pain it bring me, 

Once more let thy numbers thrill ; 
Though death were in the strain they sing me, 

I must woo its anguish still. 
Since no time can e'er recover 

Love's sweet light when once 'tis set, — 
Better to weep such pleasures over, 

Than smile o'er any left us yet. 



BRIGHT MOON. 

Bright moon, that high in heav'n art shining, 

All smiles, as if within thy bower to-night 
Thy own Endymion lay reclining, 

And thou would'st wake him with a kiss of light 1- 
By all the bliss thy beam discovers, 

By all those visions far too bright for day, 
"Which dreaming bards and waking lovers 

Behold, this night, beneath thy ling'ring ray, — 

I pray thee, queen of that bright heaven, 

Quench not to-night thy love-lamp in the sea, 
Till Anthe, in this bower, hath given 

Beneath thy beam, her long-vow'd kiss to me. 
Guide hither, guide her steps benighted, 

Ere thou, sweet moon, thy bashful crescent hide ; 
Let Love but in this bow'r be lighted, 

Then shroud in darkness all the world beside. 



200 SONGS AND BALLADS. 



LONG YEAKS HAVE PASST). 

Long years have pass'd, old friend, since we 

First met in life's young day ; 
And friends long lov'd by thee and me, 

Since then have dropped away ; — 
But enough remain to cheer us on, 

And sweeten, when thus we're met, 
The glass we fill to the many gone, 

And the few who're left us yet. 

Our locks, old friend, now thinly grow, 

And some hang white and chill ; 
While some, like flow'rs 'mid Autumn's snow, 

Retain youth's colour still. 
And so, in our hearts, though one by one, 

Youth's sunny hopes have set, 
Thank heav'n, not all their light is gone, — 

We've some to cheer us yet. 

Then here's to thee, old friend, and long 

May thou and I thus meet, 
To brighten still with wine and song 

This short life, ere it fleet. 
And still as death comes stealing on, 

Let's never, old friend, forget, 
Ev'n while we sigh o'er blessings gone, 

How many are left us yet. 



SONGS AND BALLADS. 201 

DEEAMTNG EOE EVER 

Dreaming for ever, vainly dreaming, 

Life to the last pursues its flight ; 
Day hath its visions fairly beaming, 

But false as those of night. 
The one illusion, the other real, 

But both the same brief dreams at last ; 
And when we grasp the bliss ideal, 

Soon as it shines, 'tis past. 

Here, then, by this dim lake reposing, 

Calmly I'll watch, while light and gloom 
Flit o'er its face till night is closing — 

Emblem of life's short doom ! 
But though, by turns, thus dark and shining, 

'Tis still unlike man's changeful day, 
Whose light returns not, once declining, 

Whose cloud, once come, will stay. 



THOUGH LIGHTLY SOUNDS THE SONG I SING. 

A SONG OP THE ALPS. 

Though lightly sounds the song I sing to thee. 
Though like the lark's its soaring music be, 
Thou'lt find even here some mournful note that tells 
How near such April joy to weeping dwells. 
'Tis 'mong the gayest scenes that oft'nest steal 
Those sadd'ning thoughts we fear, yet love to feel ; 
And music never half so sweet appears, 
As when her mirth forgets itself in tears. 



202 SONGS AND BALLADS. 

Then say not thou this Alpine song is gay — 
It comes from hearts that, like their mountain-lay, 
Mix joy with pain, and oft when pleasure's breath 
Most warms the surface, feel most sad beneath. 
The very beam in which the snow-wreath wears 
Its gayest smile is that which wins its tears, — 
And passion's pow'r can never lend the glow 
Which wakens bliss, without some touch of woe. 



THE RUSSIAN LOVER. 

Fleetly o'er the moonlight snows 

Speed we to my lady's bow'r ; 
Swift our sledge as lightning goes, 

Nor shall stop till morning's hour. 
Bright, my steed, the northern star 

Lights us from yon jewell'd skies ; 
But, to greet us, brighter far, 

Morn shall bring my lady's eyes. 

Lovers, lull'd in sunny bow'rs, 

Sleeping out their dream of time, 
Know not half the bliss that's ours, 

In this snowy, icy clime. 
Like yon star that livelier gleams 

From the frosty heavens around, 
Love himself the keener beams 

When with snows of coyness crown'd. 



SONGS AND BALLADS. 203 

Fleet then on, my merry steed, 

Bound, my sledge, o'er hill and dale ; — 
What can match a lover's speed ? 

See, 'tis daylight, breaking pale ! 
Brightly hath the northern star 

Lit us from yon radiant skies ; 
But, behold, how brighter far 

Yonder shine my lady's eyes ! 



FANNY, DEAEEST! 

Yes ! had I leisure to sigh and mourn, 

Fanny, dearest, for thee I'd sigh ; 
And every smile on my cheek should turn 

To tears when thou art nigh. 
But, between love, and wine, and sleep, 

So busy a life I live, 
That even the time it would take to weep 

Is more than my heart can give. 
Then wish me not to despair and pine, 

Fanny, dearest of all the dears ! 
The Love that's order'd to bathe in wine, 

"Would be sure to take cold in tears. 

Reflected bright in this heart of mine, 
Fanny, dearest, thy image lies ; 

But, ah ! the mirror would cease to shine, 
If dimm'd too often with sighs. 

They lose the half of beauty's light, 
"Who view it through sorrow's tear ; 



204: SONGS AND BALLADS. 

And 'tis but to see thee truly bright 
That I keep my eye-beams clear. 

Then wait no longer till tears shall flow- 
Fanny, dearest ! the hope is vain ; 

If sunshine cannot dissolve thy snow, 
I shall never attempt it with rain. 



SUSAN. 

Young Love liv'd once in an humble shed, 

Where roses breathing, 

And woodbines wreathing 
Around the lattice their tendrils spread, 
As wild and sweet as the life he led. 

His garden flourish'd, 

For young Hope nourish'd 
The infant buds with beams and showers ; 
But lips, though blooming, must still be fed, 
And not even Love can live on flowers. 

Alas! that Poverty's evil eye 

Should e'er come hither, 

Such sweets to wither ! 
The flowers laid down their heads to die, 
And Hope fell sick as the witch drew nigh. 

She came one morning, 

Ere Love had warning, 
And rais'd the latch, where the young god lay ; 
" Oh ho !" said Love — " is it you ? good by ;" 
So he oped the window, and flew away ! 



SONGS AND BALLADS. 205 

TO SIGH, YET FEEL NO PAIN. 

To sigh, yet feel no pain, 

To weep, yet scarce know why; 
To sport an hour with Beauty's chain, 

Then throw it idly by. 
To kneel at many a shrine, 

Yet lay the heart on none ; 
To think all other charms divine, 

But those we just have won. 
This is love, faithless love, 

Such as kindleth hearts that rove. 

To keep one sacred flame, 

Through life unchill'd, unmov'd, 
To love, in wintry age, the same 

As first in youth we lov'd ; 
To feel that we adore, 

Ev'n to such fond excess, 
That, though the heart would break with more, 

It could not live with less. 
This is love, faithful love, 

Such as saints might feel above. 



SPIRIT OF JOY, THY ALTAR LIES. 

Spirit of Joy, thy altar lies 

In youthful hearts that hope like mine 
And 'tis the light of laughing eyes, 

That leads us to thy fairy shrine. 



206 SONGS AND BALLADS. 

There if we find the sigh, the tear, 

They are not those to sorrow known ; 
But breath so soft, and drops so clear, 

That Bliss may claim them for her own. 
Then give me, give me, while I weep, 

The sanguine hope that brightens woe, 
And teaches ev'n our tears to keep 

The tinge of pleasure as they flow. 

The child, who sees the dew of night 

Upon the spangled hedge at morn, 
Attempts to catch the drops of light, 

But wounds his finger with the thorn. 
Thus oft the brightest joys we seek, 

Are lost, when touch'd, and turn'd to pain 
The flush they kindled leaves the cheek, 

The tears they waken long remain. 

But give me, give me, &c. &c. 



WHEN LEILA TOUCH'D THE LUTE. 

When Leila touch'd the lute, 

Not then alone 'twas felt, 
But, when the sounds were mute, 

In memory still they dwelt. 
Sweet lute ! in nightly slumbers 
Still we heard thy morning numbers. 

Ah, how could she, who stole 
Such breath from simple wire, 



SONGS AND BALLADS. 207 

Be led, in pride of soul, 

To string with gold her lyre ? 
Sweet lute ! thy chords she breaketh ; 
Golden now the strings she waketh ! 

But where are all the tales 

Her lute so sweetly told ? 
In lofty themes she fails, 

And soft ones suit not gold. 
Rich lute ! we see thee glisten, 
But, alas ! no more we listen ! 



BOAT GLEE. 

The song that lightens our languid way 
When brows are glowing, 
And faint with rowing, 
Is like the spell of Hope's airy lay, 
To whose sound through life we stray. 
The beams that flash on the oar awhile, 

As we row along through waves so clear, 
Illume its spray, like the fleeting smile 
That shines o'er Sorrow's tear. 

Nothing is lost on him who sees 
With an eye that Feeling gave ; — 

For him there's a story in every breeze, 
And a picture in every wave. 



208 SONGS AND BALLADS. 

Then sing to lighten the languid way ;- 
When brows are glowing, 
And faint with rowing : 
'Tis like the spell of Hope's airy lay, 
To whose sound through life we stray. 



OH THINK, WHEN A HERO IS SIGHING. 

Oh think, when a hero is sighing, 

What danger in such an adorer ! 
What woman could dream of denying 

The hand that lays laurels before her ? 
No heart is so guarded around, 

But the smile of a victor would take it ; 
No bosom can slumber so sound, 

But the trumpet of Glory will wake it. 

Love sometimes is given to sleeping, 

And woe to the heart that allows him ; 
For soon neither smiling nor weeping 

Will e'er from such slumber arouse him. 
But though he were sleeping so fast, 

That the life almost seem'd to forsake him, 
Even then, one soul-thrilling blast 

From the trumpet of Glory would wake him. 



CUPID'S LOTTERY. 

A Lottery, a Lottery, 

In Cupid's Court there us'd to be ; 



SONGS AND BALLADS. 209 

Two roguish eyes 

The highest prize 
In Cupid's scheming Lottery ; 

And kisses, too, 

As good as new, 
Which weren't very hard to win, 

For he, who won 

The eyes of fun, 
Was sure to have the kisses in. 

A Lottery, a Lottery, cSte. 

This Lottery, this Lottery, 

In Cupid's Court went merrily, 

And Cupid play'd 

A Jewish trade 
In this his scheming Lottery ; 

For hearts, we're told, 

In shares he sold 
To many a fond believing drone, 

And cut the hearts 

So well in parts, 
That each believ'd the whole his own. 

Chor. — A Lottery, a Lottery, 

In Cupid's Court there us'd to be ; 

Two roguish eyes 

The highest prize 
In Cupid's scheming Lottery. 



210 SONGS AND BALLADS. 

THOUGH SACRED THE TIE. 1 

Though sacred the tie that our country entwineth, 

And dear to the heart her remembrance remains, 
Yet dark are the ties where no liberty shineth, 

And sad the remembrance that slavery stains. 
Oh Liberty, born in the cot of the peasant, 

But dying of languor in luxury's dome, 
Our vision, when absent — our glory, when present — 

Where thou art, O Liberty ! there is my home. 

Farewell to the land where in childhood I wander'd ! 

In vain is she mighty, in vain is she brave ; 
Unbless'd is the blood that for tyrants is squander'd, 

And Fame has no wreaths for the brow of the slave. 
But hail to thee, Albion ! who meet'st the commotion 

Of Europe, as calm as thy cliffs meet the foam ; 
With no bonds but the law, and no slave but the ocean, 

Hail, Temple of Liberty ! thou art my home. 



WHERE IS THE HEART THAT WOULD NOT GIVE. 

Where is the heart that would not give 

Years of drowsy days and nights, 
One little hour, like this, to live — 
Full, to the brim, of life's delights ? 
Look, look around 
This fairy ground 

1 Sung in the character of a Frenchman. 



SONGS AND BALLADS. 211 

With love-lights glittering o'er ; 

While cups that shine 

With freight divine 
Go coasting round its shore. 

Hope is the dupe of future hours, 

Memory lives in those gone by ; 
Neither can see the moment's flowers 
Springing up fresh beneath the eye. 

Wouldst thou, or thou, 

Forego what's now, 
For all that Hope may say ? 

No — Joy's reply, 

From every eye, 
Is, "Live we while we may. 



SONG OF THE POCO-CUEANTE SOCIETY. 
Haud curat Hippoclides. 



Erasm. Adag. 



To those we love we've drunk to-night ; 

But now attend, and stare not 
While I the ampler list recite 

Of those for whom We care not. 

For royal men, howe'er they frown, 
If on their fronts they bear not 

That noblest gem that decks a crown, 
The People's Love — We care not. 



112 SONGS AND BALLADS. 

For slavish men, who bend beneath 
A despot yoke, yet dare not 

Pronounce the will, whose very breath 
"Would rend its links — We care not. 

For priestly men, who covet sway 

And wealth, though they declare not ; 

Who point, like finger-posts, the way 
They never go — We care not. 

For martial men, who on their sword, 
Howe'er it conquers, wear not 

The pledges of a soldier's word, 

Kedeem'd and pure — We care not. 

For legal men, who plead for wrong, 
And, though to lies they swear not, 

Are hardly better than the throng 
Of those who do — We care not. 

For courtly men, who feed upon 
The land, like grubs, and spare not 

The smallest leaf, where they can sun 
Their crawling limbs — We care not. 

For wealthy men, who keep their mines 
In darkness hid, and share not 

The paltry ore with him who pines 
In honest want — We care not. 

For prudent men, who hold the power 
Of Love aloof, and bare not 



SONGS AND BALLADS. 213 

Their hearts in any guardless hour 
To Beauty's shaft — We care not. 

For all, in short, on land or sea, 

In camp or court, who are not, 
Who never were, or e'er will be 

Good men and true — We care not. 



THE DKEAM OF THE TWO SISTERS. 

FROM DjUn'TE. 

Nell ora, credo, che dell' oriente 
Prima raggio nel monte Citerea, 
Che di fuoco d' amor par sempre ardente, 

Giovane e bella in sogno mi parea 
Donna vedere andar per una landa 
Cogliendo fiori ; e cantando dicea : — 

Sappia qualunque '1 mio nome dimanda, 
Ch' io mi son Lia, e vo movendo 'r.torno 
Le belle mani a farmi una ghirlanda — 

Per piacermi alio specchio qiii m' adorno ; 
Ma mia suora Rachel mai non si smaga 
Dal suo ammiraglio, e siede tutto il giorno. 

Ell' e de' suoi begli occhi veder vaga, 
Com' io dell' adornarmi con le mani ; 
Lei lo vedere e me l'ovrare appaga. 

Dante, Purg. canto xxvii. 

"Twas eve's soft hour, and bright, above, 

The star of Beauty beam'd, 
While lull'd by light so full of love, 

In slumber thus I dream'd — ■ 



214 SONGS AND BALLADS. 

Methought, at that sweet hour, 

A nymph came o'er the lea, 
"Who, gath'ring many a flow'r, 

Thus said and sung to me : — 
" Should any ask what Leila loves, 

" Say thou, To wreathe her hair 
" With flow'rets cull'd from glens and groves, 

" Is Leila's only care. 

" While thus in quest of flow'rets rare, 

" O'er hill and dale I roam, 
" My sister, Rachel, far more fair, 

" Sits lone and mute at home. 
" Before her glass untiring, 

" With thoughts that never stray, 
" Her own bright eyes admiring, 

" She sits the live-long day ; 
" While I ! oh, seldom even a look 

" Of self salutes my eye ; — 
" My only glass, the limpid brook, 

" That shines and passes by." 



SOVEREIGN WOMAN. 

A BALLAD. 

The dance was o'er, yet still in dreams 

That fairy scene went on ; 
Like clouds still flush'd with daylight gleams, 

Though day itself is gone. 



SONGS AND BALLADS. 215 

And gracefully, to music's sound, 
The same bright nymphs went gliding round ; 
"While thou, the Queen of all, wert there — 
The Fairest still, where all were fair. 

The dream then chang'd — in halls of state, 

I saw thee high enthron'd ; 
While, rang'd around, the wise, the great 

In thee their mistress own'd : 
And still the same, thy gentle sway 
O'er willing subjects won its way — 
'Till all confess'd the Right Divine 
To rule o'er man was only thine ! 

But, lo, the scene now chang'd again — 

And borne on plumed steed, 
I saw thee o'er the battle-plain 

Our land's defenders lead ; 
And stronger in thy beauty's charms, 
Than man, with countless hosts in arms, 
Thy voice, like music, cheer'd the Free ; 
Thy very smile was victory ! 

Nor reign such queens on thrones alone — 

In cot and court the same, 
Wherever woman's smile is known, 

Victoria's still her name. 
For though she almost blush to reign, 
Though Love's own flow'rets wreath the chain, 
Disguise our bondage as Ave will, 
'Tis woman, woman, rules us still, 
p 4 



216 SONGS AND BALLADS. 

COME, PLAY ME THAT SIMPLE AIR AGAIN. 

A BALLAD. 

Come, play me that simple air again, 

I us'd so to love, in life's young day, 
And bring, if thou canst, the dreams that then 
Were waken'd by that sweet lay. 
The tender gloom its strain 

Shed o'er the heart and brow, 
Grief's shadow, without its pain — 
Say where, where is it now ? 
But play me the well-known air once more, 

For thoughts of youth still haunt its strain, 
Like dreams of some far, fairy shore 
We never shall see again. 

Sweet air, how every note brings back 

Some sunny hope, some day-dream bright, 
That, shining o'er life's early track, 
Fill'd ev'n its tears with light. 

The new-found life that came 

With Love's first echo'd vow ; — 
The fear, the bliss, the shame — 
Ah — where, where are they now? 
But, still the same lov'd notes prolong, 

For sweet 'twere thus, to that old lay, 
In dreams of youth and love and song, 
To breathe life's hour away. 



SONGS AXD BALLADS. 217 

OH, WERE IT NOT FOR THIS SAD VOICE. 

Oh, wei-e it not for this sad voice, 

Stealing amid our mirth to say, 
That all, in which we most rejoice, 

Ere night may be the earth-worm's prey ; — < 
But for this bitter — only this — 
Full as the world is brimm'd with bliss, 
And capable as feels my soul 
Of draining to its depth the whole, 
I should turn earth to heaven, and be, 
If bliss made gods, a deity ! 



DRINK OF THIS CUP. 

"Drink of this cup — Osiris 1 sips 

The same in his halls below ; 
And the same he gives to cool the lips, 

Of the Dead 2 who downward go. 

" Drink of this cup — the water within 
Is fresh from Lethe's stream ; 

1 Osiris, under the name of Serapis, was supposed to rule over the 
subterranean world ; and performed the office of Pluto, in the mytho- 
logy of the Egyptians. " They believed," says Dr. Prichard, " that 
Serapis presided over the region of departed souls, during the period 
of their absence, when languishing without bodies, and that the dead 
were deposited in his palace." — Analysis of the Egyptian Mythology. 

2 " Frigidam illam aquam post mortem, tanquam Hebes poculum, 
expetitam." Zoega. — The Lethe of the Egyptians was called Ameles. 
See Dupuis, torn. viii. p. 651. 



218 SONGS AND BALLADS. 

'Twill make the past, with all its sin, 
And all its pain and sorrows, seem 
Like a long-forgotten dream ! 

" The pleasure, whose charms 

Are steep'd in woe ; 
The knowledge that harms 

The soul to know ; 

" The hope, that, bright 
As the lake of the waste, 

Allures the sight, 
But mocks the taste ; 

" The love, that binds 

Its innocent wreath, 
Where the serpent winds, 

In venom beneath ; — 

" All that, of evil or false, by thee 
Hath ever been known or seen, 
Shall melt away in this cup, and be 
Forgot, as it never had been ! " 



DRINK OF THIS CUP. 
"Drink of this cup — when Isis led 

Her boy, of old, to the beaming sky, 
She mingled a draught divine 1 , and said — 

' Drink of this cup, thou'lt never die !' 

1 The ttjj adavaoias <pap/xaKov, which, according to Diodorus 
Siculus, Isis prepared for her son Orus. — Lib. i. 



SONGS AND BALLADS. 219 

" Thus do I say and sing to thee, 

Heir of that boundless heaven on high, 

Though frail, and fall'ii, and lost thou be, 
Drink of this cup, thou'lt never die ! " 



OH! ABYSSINIAN TREE. 
" Oh ! Abyssinian tree, 
We pray, we pray to thee 5 
By the glow of thy golden fruit, 
And the violet hue of thy flower, 
And the greeting mute 
Of thy bough's salute 
To the stranger who seeks thy bower. 1 

" Oh ! Abyssinian tree. 
How the traveller blesses thee, 
When the night no moon allows, 
And the sunset hour is near, 
And though bendst thy boughs, 
To kiss his brows, 
Saying, ' Come rest thee here.' 
Oh! Abyssinian tree, 
Thus bow thy head to me ! " 

THE VOICE. 
It came o'er her sleep, like a voice of those days, 
When love, only love, was the light of her ways ; 

1 See an account of this sensitive tree, which bends down its 
branches to those who approach it, in M. Jomard's Description of 
Syene and the Cataracts. 



• 



220 SONGS AND BALLADS. 

And, soft as in moments of bliss long ago, 
It whisper'd her name from the garden below. 

" Alas," sigh'd the maiden, " how fancy can cheat ! 

" The world once had lips that could whisper thus sweet ; 

" But cold now they slumber in yon fatal deep, 

" Where, oh that beside them this heart too could sleep!'' 

She sunk on her pillow — but no, 'twas in vain 
To chase the illusion, that Voice came again ! 
She flew to the casement — but, hush'd as the grave, 
In moonlight lay slumbering woodland and wave. 

" Oh sleep, come and shield me," in anguish she said, 
"From that call of the buried, that cry of the Dead!" 
And sleep came around her — but, starting, she woke, 
For still from the garden that spirit Voice spoke ! 

" I come," she exclaim'd : " be thy home where it may, 
" On earth or in heaven, that call I obey." 
Then forth through the moonlight, with heart beating fast, 
And loud as a death-watch, the pale maiden past. 

Still round her the scene all in loneliness shone ; 
And still, in the distance, that Voice led her on ; 
But whither she wander'd, by wave or by shore, 
None ever could tell, for she came back no more. 

No, ne'er came she back, — but the watchman who stood, 
That night in the tow'r which o'ershadows the flood, 
Saw dimly, 'tis said, o'er the moon-lighted spray, 
A youth on a steed bear the maiden away. 



SONGS AND BALLADS. 221 



CUPID AND PSYCHE. 



Thet told her that he, to whose vow she had listen'd 
Through night's fleeting hours, was a spirit unblest ; — 

Unholy the eyes, that beside her had glisten'd. 
And evil the lips she in darkness had prest. 

" When next in thy chamber the bridegroom reclineth, 
" Bring near him thy lamp, when in slumber he lies ; 

" And there, as the light o'er his dark features shineth, 
" Thou'lt see what a demon hath won all thy sighs ! " 

Too fond to believe them, yet doubting, yet fearing, 
When calm lay the sleeper she stole with her light ; 

And saw — such a vision ! — no image, appearing 
To bards in their day-dreams, was ever so bright. 

A youth, but just passing from childhood's sweet morning, 
While round him still linger'd its innocent ray ; 

Though gleams from beneath his shut eyelids gave 
warning 
Of summer-noon lightnings that under them lay. 

His brow had a grace more than mortal around it, 
While, glossy as gold from a fairy-land mine, 

His sunny hair hung, and the flowers that crown'd it 
Seem'd fresh from the breeze of some garden divine. 

Entranc'd stood the bride, on that miracle gazing, 

What late was but love is idolatry now ; 
But, ah — in her tremor the fatal lamp raising — 

A sparkle flew from it and dropp'd on his brow. 



222 SOXGS AND BALLADS. 

All's lost — with a start from his rosy sleep waking, 
The Spirit flash'd o'er her his glances of fire ; 

Then, slow from the clasp of her snowy arms breaking, 
Thus said in a voice more of sorrow than ire : 

"Farewell — what a dream thy suspicion hath broken ! 

" Thus ever Affection's fond vision is crost ; 
" Dissolv'd are her spells when a doubt is but spoken, 

" And love, once distrusted, for ever is lost ! " 



HERO AND LEANDER. 

" The night-wind is moaning with mournful sigh, 
" There gleameth no moon in the misty sky, 

" No star over Helle's sea ; 
" Yet, yet, there is shining one holy light, 
" One love-kindled star through the deep of night, 

" To lead me, sweet Hero, to thee ! " 

Thus saying, he plung'd in the foamy stream, 
Still fixing his gaze on that distant beam 

No eye but a lover's could see ; 
And still, as the surge swept over his head, 
" To-night," he said tenderly, " living or dead, 

" Sweet Hero, I'll rest with thee !" 

But fiercer around him the wild waves speed ; 
Oh, Love ! in that hour of thy votary's need, 

Where, where could thy Spirit be ? 
He struggles — he sinks — while the hurricane's breath 
Bears rudely away his last farewell in death — 

" Sweet Hero, I die for thee!" 






SONGS AND BALLADS. 223 

THE LEAP AND THE FOUNTAIN. 

" Tell me, kind Seer, I pray thee, 
" So may the stars obey thee, 

" So may each airy 

" Moon-elf and fairy 
" Nightly their homage pay thee ! 
" Say, by what spell, above, below, 
" In stars that wink or flow'rs that blow, 

" I may discover, 

" Ere night is over, 
" Whether my love loves me or no, 
" Whether my love loves me." 

" Maiden, the dark tree nigh thee 

" Hath charms no gold could buy thee ; 

" Its stem enchanted, 

" By moon-elves planted, 
" Will all thou seek'st supply thee. 
" Climb to yon boughs that highest grow, 
" Bring thence their fairest leaf below ; 

" And thou'lt discover, 

" Ere night is over, 
" Whether thy love loves thee or no, 
" Whether thy love loves thee." 

" See, up the dark tree going, 

" With blossoms round me blowing, 

" From thence, oh Father, 

" This leaf I gather, 
'' Fairest that there is growing. 



224 



SONGS AND BALLADS. 



" Say, by what sign I now shall know 
" If in this leaf lie bliss or woe ; 

" And thus discover, 

" Ere night is over, 
" Whether my love loves me or no, 
" Whether my love loves me." 

" Fly to yon fount that's welling, 
" Where moonbeam ne'er had dwelling, 
" Dip in its water 
" That leaf, oh Daughter, 
" And mark the tale 'tis telling ; * 
« Watch thou if pale or bright it grow, 
" List thou, the while, that fountain's flow, 
" And thou'lt discover 
" Whether thy lover, 
" Lov'd as he is, loves thee or no, 
" Lov'd as he is, loves thee." 

Forth flew the nymph, delighted, 
To seek that fount benighted ; 

But, scarce a minute 

The leaf lay in it, 
When, lo, its bloom was blighted ! 
And as she ask'd, with voice of woe — 
List'ning, the while, that fountain's flow — 



1 The ancients had a mode of divination somewhat similar to this ; 
and we find the Emperor Adrian, when he went to consult the 
Fountain of Castalia, plucking a hay-leaf and dipping it into the 
sacred water. 



SONGS AND BALLADS. 225 

" Shall I recover, 

" My truant lover ? " 
The fountain seem'd to answer, "No ;" 
The fountain answer'd, il No." 



CEPHALUS AND PROCPJS. 

A hunter once in that grove reclin'd, 

To shun the noon's bright eye, 
And oft he woo'd the wandering wind, 

To cool his brow with its sigh. 
"While mute lay ev'n the wild bee's hum, 

Nor breath could stir the aspen's hair 
His song was still " Sweet Air, oh come ! " 

While Echo answer'd, " Come, sweet Air ! " 

But, hark, what sounds from the thicket rise ! 

"What meaneth that rustling spray ? 
" 'Tis the white-horn'd doe," the Hunter cries, 

" I have sought since break of day." 
Quick o'er the sunny glade he springs, 

The arrow flies from his sounding bow, 
" Hilliho — hilliho!" he gaily sings, 

While Echo sighs forth " Hilliho ! " 

Alas, 'twas not the white-horn'd doe 

He saw in the rustling grove, 
But the bridal veil, as pure as snow, 

Of his own young wedded love. 
Q 



22G SONGS AND BALLADS. 

And, ah, too sure that arrow sped, 
For pale at his feet he sees her lie ; — 

" I die, I die," was all she said, 

While Echo murmur'd, "I die, I die ! " 



YOUTH AND AGE. 1 

" Tell me, what's Love ?" said Youth, one day, 

To drooping Age, who crost his way. — 

" It is a sunny hour of play, 

" For which repentance dear doth pay ; 

" Repentance ! Repentance ! 
" And this is Love, as wise men say." 

" Tell me, what's Love?" said Youth once more, 

Fearful, yet fond, of Age's lore. — 

" Soft as a passing summer's wind : 

" Wouldst know the blight it leaves behind ? 

"Repentance! Repentance! 
" And this is Love when love is o'er." — 

" Tell me, what's Love ? " said Youth again, 
Trusting the bliss, but not the pain. 
" Sweet as a May-tree's scented air — 
" Mark ye what bitter fruit 'twill bear, 

" Repentance ! Repentance ! 
" This, this is Love — sweet Youth, beware." 

1 The air, to which I have adapted these words, was composed by 
Mrs. Arkwright to some old verses, " Tell me what's love, kind 
shepherd, pray ? " and it has been my object to retain as much of the 
structure and phraseology of the original words as possible. 



SONGS AND BALLADS. 227 

Just then, young Love himself came by* 
And cast on Youth a smiling eye ; 
Who could resist that glance's ray ? 
In vain did Age his warning say, 
" Eepentance ! Repentance ! " 
Youth laughing went with Love away. 



THE DYING WAEEIOR. 

A wounded Chieftain, lying 
By the Danube's leafy side, 

Thus faintly said, in dying, 

" Oh ! bear, thou foaming tide, 
" This gift to my lady-bride." 

'Twas then, in life's last quiver, 
He flung the scarf he wore 

Into the foaming river, 

Which, ah too quickly, bore 
That pledge of one no more ! 

With fond impatience burning, 
The Chieftain's lady stood, 

To watch her love returning 
In triumph down the flood, 
From that day's field of blood. 

But, field, alas, ill-fated ! 

The lady saw, instead 
Of the bark whose speed she waited, 

Her hero's scarf, all red 

With the drops his heart had shed. 






228 SONGS AND BALLADS. 

One shriek — and all was over — 
Her life-pulse ceas'd to beat ; 

The gloomy waves now cover 
That bridal flower so sweet, 
And the scarf is her winding sheet ! 



THE MAGIC MIKROR. 

" Come, if thy magic Glass have pow'r, 

" To call up forms we sigh to see ; 
" Show me my love, in that rosy bow'r, 

" Where last she pledg'd her truth to me." 

The Wizard show'd him liis Lady bright, 
Where lone and pale in her bow'r she lay ; 

" True-hearted maid," said the happy Knight, 
" She's thinking of one, who is far away." 

But, lo ! a page, with looks of joy, 

Brings tidings to the Lady's ear ; 
" 'Tis," said the Knight, " the same bright boy, 

" Who used to guide me to my deax-." 

The Lady now, from her fav'rite tree, 

Hath, smiling, pluck'd a rosy flow'r ; 
" Such," he exclaim'd, " was the gift that she 

"Each morning sent me from that bow'r!" 

She gives her page the blooming rose, 

With looks that say, "Like lightning, fly ! " 

" Thus," thought the Knight, " she soothes her woes, 
" By fancying, still, her true-love nigh." 



SONGS AND BALLADS. 229 

But the page returns, and — oh, what a sight, 

For trusting lover's eyes to see ! — 
Leads to that bow'r another Knight, 

As young and, alas, as lov'd as he ! 

" Such," quoth the Youth, " is Woman's love ! " 
Then, darting forth, with furious bound, 

Dash'd at the Mirror his iron glove, 
And strew 'd it all in fragments round. 



Such ills would never have come to pass, 
Had he ne'er sought that fatal view ; 

The Wizard would still have kept his Glass, 
And the Knight still thought his Lady true. 



THE PILGEIM. 

Still thus, when twilight gleam'd, 
Far off his Castle seem'd, 

Trac'd on the sky ; 
And still, as fancy bore him 
To those dim tow'rs before him, 
He gaz'd, with wishful eye, 

And thought his home was nigh. 



" Hall of my Sires ! " he said, 
" How long, with weary tread, 
" Must I toil on ? 

Q 3 



230 SONGS AND BALLADS. 

" Each eve, as thus I wander, 
" Thy tow'rs seem rising yonder, 
" But, scarce hath daylight shone, 
" When, like a dream, thou'rt gone ! ' 

So went the Pilgrim, still, 
Down dale and over hill, 

Day after day ; 
That glimpse of home, so cheering, 
At twilight still appearing, 
But still, with morning's ray, 

Melting, like mist, away ! 

Where rests the Pilgrim now ? 
Here, by this cypress bough, 

Clos'd his career ; 
That dream, of Fancy's weaving, 
No more his steps deceiving, 
Alike past hope and fear, 

The Pilgrim's home is here. 



THE HIGII-BOEN LADYE. 

In vain all the Knights of the Under w aid woo'd her, 
Though brightest of maidens, the proudest was she ; 

Brave chieftains they sought, and young minstrels they 
sued her, 
But worthy were none of the high-born Ladye. 



That Knight must the conqu'ror of conquerors be 



SONGS AND BALLADS. 231 

" He must place me in halls fit for monarchs to dwell in ; — 
" None else shall be Lord of the high-born Ladye !." 

Thus spoke the proud damsel, with scorn looking round 
her, 

On Knights and on Nobles of highest degree ; 
Who humbly and hopelessly left as they found her, 

And worshipp'd at distance the high-born Ladye. 

At length came a Knight, from a far land to woo her, 
"With plumes on his helm like the foam of the sea ; 

His vizor was down — but, with voice that thrill'd 
through her, 
He whisper'd his vows to the high-born Ladye. 

" Proud maiden ! I come with high spousals to grace 
thee, 

" In me the great conqu'ror of conquerors see ; 
" Enthron'd in a hall fit for monarchs I'll place thee, 

" And mine thou'rt for ever, thou high-born Ladye." 

The maiden she smil'd, and in jewels array'd her, 
Of thrones and tiaras already dreamt she ; 

And proud was the step, as her bridegroom convey'd her 
In pomp to his home, of that high-born Ladye. 

" But whither," she, starting, exclaims, " have you led 

me ? 

" Here's nought but a tomb and a dark cypress tree ; 

" Is this the bright palace in which thou wouldst wed 

me? " 

With scorn in her glance, said the high-born Ladye. 



232 SOXGS AND BALLADS. 

" 'Tis the home," he replied, " of earth's loftiest crea- 
tures " — 

Then lifted his helm for the fair one to see ; 
But she sunk on the gi-ound — 'twas a skeleton's features, 

And Death was the Lord of the high-born Ladye ! 



THE INDIAN BOAT. 

'TWAS midnight dark, 

The seaman's bark, 
Swift o'er the -waters bore him, 

"When, through the night, 

He spied a light 
Shoot o'er the wave before him. 
" A sail ! a sail !" he cries ; 

" She comes from the Indian shore, 
" And to-night shall be our prize, 
" With her freight of golden ore : 

" Sail on ! sail on ! " 

When morning shone 
He saw the gold still clearer ; 

But, though so fast 

The waves he pass'd, 
That boat seem'd never the nearer. 

Bright daylight came, 
And still the same 
Rich bark before him floated ; 



SONGS AND BALLADS. 233 

"While on the prize 

His wishful eyes 
Like any young lover's doated : 
" More sail! more sail!" he cries, 

"While the waves o'ertop the mast ; 
And his bounding galley flies, 
Like an arrow before the blast. 

Thus on, and on, 

Till day was gone, 
And the moon through heaven did hie her 

He swept the main, 

But all in vain, 
That boat seem'd never the nigher. 

And many a day 

To night gave way, 
And many a morn succeeded : 

"While still his flight, 

Through day and night, 
That restless mariner speeded. 
Who knows — who knows what seas 

He is now careering o'er ? 
Behind, the eternal breeze, 

And that mocking bark before ! 

For, oh, till sky 

And earth shall die, 
And their death leave none to rue it, 

That boat must flee 

O'er the boundless sea, 
And that ship in vain pursue it. 



234 SONGS AND BALLADS. 



THE STBANGEB. 

Come list, while I tell of the heart-wounded Stranger 
"Who sleeps her last slumber in this haunted ground ; 

Where often, at midnight, the lonely wood-ranger 
Hears soft fairy music re-echo around. 

None e'er knew the name of that heart-stricken lady, 
Her language, though sweet, none could e'er under- 
stand ; 

But her features so sunn'd, and her eyelash so shady, 
Bespoke her a child of some far Eastern land. 

'Twas one summer night, when the village lay sleeping, 
A soft strain of melody came o'er our ears ; 

So sweet, but so mournful, half song and half weeping, 
Like music that Sorrow had steep'd in her tears. 

We thought 'twas an anthem some angel had sung us ; — 
But, soon as the day-beams had gush'd from on high, 

Witli wonder we saw this bright stranger among us, 
All lovely and lone, as if stray'd from the sky. 

Nor long did her life for this sphere seem intended, 
For pale was her cheek, with that spirit-like hue, 

Which comes when the day of this world is nigh ended, 
And light from another already shines through. 

Then her eyes, when she sung — oh, but once to have 
seen them — 
Left thoughts in the soul that can never depart ; 






SONGS AND BALLADS. 235 



them, 
That spoke more than holiest words to the heart. 

But she pass'd like a day-dream, no skill could restore 
her — 

Whate'er was her sorrow, its ruin came fast ; 
She died with the same spell of mystery o'er her, 

That song of past days on her lips to the last. 

Nor ev'n in the grave is her sad heart reposing — 
Still hovers the spirit of grief round her tomb ; 

For oft, when the shadows of midnight are closing, 
The same strain of music is heard through the gloom. 



MELOLOGUE. 

A SHORT STRAIN OF MUSIC FROM THE ORCHESTRA. 

There breathes a language, known and felt 
Far as the pure air spreads its living zone ; 

Wherever rage can rouse, or pity melt, 

That language of the soul is felt and known. 
From those meridian plains, 
Where oft, of old, on some high tow'r, 

The soft Peruvian pour'd his midnight strains, 

And call'd his distant love with such sweet pow'r, 
That, when she heard the lonely lay, 

Not worlds could keep her from his arms away. 1 

1 " A certain Spaniard, one night late, met an Indian woman in the 
streets of Cozco, and would have taken her to his home, but she cried 
out, ' For God's sake, Sir, let me go ; for that pipe, which you hear in 
yonder tower, calls me with great passion, and I cannot refuse the 



236 SONGS AXD BALLADS. 

To the bleak climes of polar night, 
Where blithe, beneath a sunless sky, 
The Lapland lover bids his rein-deer fly, 
And sings along the length'ning waste of snow, 
Gaily as if the blessed light 
Of vernal Phoebus burn'd upon his brow ; 
Oh Music ! thy celestial claim 
Is still resistless, still the same ; 
And, faithful as the mighty sea 
To the pale star that o'er its realm presides, 
The spell-bound tides 
Of human passion rise and fall for thee ! 

GREEK ATK. 

List ! 'tis a Grecian maid that sings, 
While, from Ilissus' silv'ry springs, 
She draws the cool lymph in her graceful urn ; 
And by her side, in Music's charm dissolving, 
Some patriot youth, the glorious past revolving, 
Dreams of bright days that never can return ; 
When Athens nurs'd her olive bough, 

With hands by tyrant pow'r unchained ; 
And braided for the muse's brow 

A wreath by tyrant touch unstain'd : 
When heroes trod each classic field 

Where coward feet now faintly falter ; 
When ev'ry arm was Freedom's shield, 
And ev'ry heart was Freedom's altar ! 

summons ; for love constrains me to go, that I may be his wife, and he 
my husband.' " — Garcilasso de la Vega, in Sir Paul Kicaut's trans- 
lation. 






SONGS AND BALLADS. 237 



FLOURISH OF TRUMPETS. 

Hark, 'tis the sound that charms 

The war-steed's wak'ning ears! — 
Oh ! many a mother folds her arms 
Round her boy-soldier when that call she hears ; 
And, though her fond heart sink with fears, 
Is proud to feel his young pulse bound 
With valour's fever at the sound. 
See, from his native hills afar 
The rude Helvetian flies to war ; 
Careless for what, for whom he fights 
For slave or despot, wrongs or rights ; 

A conqueror oft — a hero never — 
Yet lavish of his life-blood still. 
As if 'twere like his mountain rill, 

And gush'd for ever ! 

Yes, Music, here, even here, 
Amid this thoughtless, vague career, 
Thy soul-felt charm asserts its wondrous pow'r — 

There's a wild air which oft, among the rocks 
Of his own loved land, at ev'ning hour, 

Is heard, when shepherds homeward pipe their 
flocks, 
Whose every note hath power to thrill his mind 

With tend'rest thoughts; to bring around his knees 
The rosy children whom he left behind, 
And fill each little angel eye 
With speaking tears, that ask him why 
He wander'd from his hut for scenes like these. 



238 SONGS AND BALLADS. 

Vain, vain is then the trumpet's brazen roar ; 

Sweet notes of home, of love, are all he hears ; 
And the stern eyes, that look'd for blood before, 

Now melting, mournful, lose themselves in tears. 

SWISS AIR. " RANZ DES V ACHES." 

But, wake the trumpet's blast again, 
And rouse the ranks of warrior-men ! 

Oh War, when Truth thy arm employs, 
And Freedom's spirit guides the labouring storm, 
'Tis then thy vengeance takes a hallow'd form, 

And, like Heaven's light'ning, sacredly destroys. 

Nor, Music, through thy breathing sphere, 

Lives there a sound more grateful to the ear 
Of Him who made all harmony, 
Than the bless'd sound of fetters breaking, 
And the first hymn that man, awaking 

From Slavery's slumber, breathes to Liberty. 

SPANISH CHORUS. 

Hark ! from Spain, indignant Spain, 
Bursts the bold, enthusiast strain, 
Like morning's music on the air ; 
And seems, in every note, to swear 
By Saragossa's ruin'd streets, 

By brave Gerona's deathful story, 
That, while one Spaniard's life-blood beats, 
That blood shall stain the conqu'ror's glory. 

SPANISH AIR. " TA DESPERTO." 

But ah ! if vain the patriot's zeal, 
If neither valour's force nor wisdom's light 



SONGS AND BALLADS. 239 

Can break or melt that blood-cemented seal, 
Which shuts so close the book of Europe's right — 
"What song shall then in sadness tell 

Of broken pride, of prospects shaded, 
Of buried hopes, remember'd well, 

Of ardour quench'd, and honour faded ? 
What muse shall mourn the breathless brave, 

In sweetest dirge at Memory's shrine ? 
What harp shall sigh o'er Freedom's grave ? 
Oh Erin, Thine ! 






SACRED SONGS. 



THOU ART, GOD. 

(AIR. UNKNOWN. 1 ) 

" The day is thine, the night also is thine : thou hast prepared the 
light and the sun. 

" Thou has set all the borders of the earth : thou hast made 
summer and winter." — Psalm lxxiv. 16, 17. 

Thou art, O God, the life and light 
Of all this wondrous world we see ; 

Its glow by day, its smile by night, 
Are but reflections caught from Thee. 

Where'er we turn, thy glories shine, 

And all things fair and bright are Thine ! 

When Day, with farewell beam, delays 
Among the op'ning clouds of Even, 

And we can almost think we gaze 

Through golden vistas into Heaven — ■ 

Those hues that make the Sun's decline 

So soft, so radiant, Lord ! are Thine. 



1 I have heard that this air is by the late Mrs. Sheridan. It is 
sung to the beautiful old words, " I do confess thou'rt smooth and 
fair." 



242 SACKED SONGS. 

When Night, with wings of starry gloom, 
O'ershadows all the earth and skies, 

Like some dark, beauteous bird, whose plume 
Is sparkling with unnumber'd eyes — 

That sacred gloom, those fires divine, 

So grand, so countless, Lord ! are Thine. 

When youthful Spring around us breathes, 
Thy Spirit warms her fragrant sigh ; 

And every flower the Summer wreathes 
Is born beneath that kindling eye. 

Where'er we turn, thy glories shine, 

And all things fair and bright are Thine ! 



THE BIRD, LET LOOSE. 

(.MR. — BEETHOVEN.) 

The bird, let loose in eastern skies, ' 

When hast'ning fondly home, 
Ne'er stoops to earth her wing, nor flies 

Where idle warblers roam. 
But high she shoots through air and light, 

Above all low delay, 
Where nothing earthly bounds her flight, 

Nor shadow dims her way. 

So grant me, God, from every care 

And stain of passion free, 
Aloft, through Virtue's purer air, 

To hold my course to Thee ! 

1 The carrier-pigeon, it is well known, flies at an elevated pitch, in 
order to surmount every obstacle between her and the place to which 
she is destined. 



SACRED SONGS. 243 



No sin to cloud, no lure to stay 
My Soul, as home she springs ;- 

Thy Sunshine on her joyful way, 
Thy Freedom in her wings ! 



FALLEN IS THY THRONE. 

(AIK. MARTINI.) 

Fall'n is thy throne, O Israel ! 

Silence is o'er thy plains ; 
Thy dwellings all lie desolate, 

Thy children weep in chains. 
Where are the dews that fed thee 

On Etham's barren shore ? 
That fire from Heaven which led thee, 

Now lights thy path no more. 

Lord ! thou didst love Jerusalem — 

Once she was all thy own ; 
Her love thy fairest heritage, 1 

Her power thy glory's throne. 2 
Till evil came, and blighted 

Thy long-lov'd olive tree ; — 3 
And Salem's shrines were lighted 

For other gods than thee. 

1 " I have left mine heritage ; I have given the clearly beloved of 
my soul into the hands of her enemies." — Jeremiah, xii. 7. 

2 " Do not disgrace the throne of thy glory." — Jer. xiv. 21. 

' " The Lord called thy name a green olive-tree ; fair, and of 
goodly fruit," &c. — Jer. xi. 1 6. 

r 2 



244 SACRED SONGS. 

Then sunk the star of Solyma — 

Then passed her glory's day, 
Like heath that, in the wilderness, 1 

The wild wind whirls away. 
Silent and waste her bowers, 

Where once the mighty trod, 
And sunk those guilty towers, 

While Baal reign'd as God. 

" Go " — said the Lord — " Ye Conquerors ! 

" Steep in her blood your swords, 
" And raze to earth her battlements, 2 

" For they are not the Lord's. 
" Till Zion's mournful daughter 

" O'er kindred bones shall tread, 
" And Hinnom's vale of slaughter 3 

" Shall hide but half her dead !" 



WHO IS THE MAID? 
st. jerome's love. 4 
(air. beethoven.) 

Who is the Maid my spirit seeks, 

Through cold reproof and slander's blight ? 

1 " For he shall he like the heath in the desert." — Jer. xvii. 6. 

8 " Take away her battlements ; for they are not the Lord's." — 
Jer. v. 10. 

3 " Therefore, behold, the days come, saith the Lord, that it shall no 
more be called Tophet, nor the Valley of the Son of Hinnom, but the 
Valley of Slaughter ; for they shall bury in Tophet till there be no 
place." — Jer. vii. 32. 

* These lines were suggested by a passage in one of St. Jerome's 






SACKED SONGS. 245 

Has she Love's roses on her cheeks ? 

Is hers an eye of this world's light ? 
No — wan and sunk with midnight prayer 

Are the pale looks of her I love ; 
Or if, at times, a light be there, 

Its beam is kindled from above. 

I chose not her, my heart's elect, 

From those who seek their Maker's shrine 
In gems and garlands proudly deck'd, 

As if themselves were things divine. 
No — Heaven but faintly warms the breast 

That beats beneath a broider'd veil ; 
And she who comes in glitt'ring vest 

To mourn her frailty, still is frail. 1 

Not so the faded form I prize 

And love, because its bloom is gone ; 
The glory in those sainted eyes 

Is all the grace her brow puts on. 
And ne'er was Beauty's dawn so bright, 

So touching as that form's decay, 
Which, like the altar's trembling light, 

In holy lustre wastes away. 

Letters, replying to some calumnious remarks that had been circulated 
respecting his intimacy with the matron Paula : — " Numquid me 
vestes series, nitentes gemmae, picta facies, aut auri rapuit ambitio ? 
Nulla fuit aha Roma? matronarum, qua? meam possit edomare mentem, 
nisi lugens atque jejunans, fletu pene cseeata." — Epist. " Si tibi 
putem." 

1 Ov yap KpuffCKpopsiv rrjV daitpvovcrav Set. — Chrysost. Homil. 8. in 
Epist. ad Tim. 



246 SACRED SONGS. 

THIS WORLD IS ALL A FLEETING SHOW. 

(A1E. — STEVENSON.) 

Tins world is all a fleeting show, 

For man's illusion given ; 
The smiles of Joy, the tears of "Woe, 
Deceitful shine, deceitful flow — 

There's nothing true, but Heaven ! 

And false the light on Glory's plume, 

As fading hues of Even ; 
And Love and Hope, and Beauty's bloom, 
Are blossoms gather'd for the tomb — 

There's nothing bright, but Heaven ! 

Poor wand'rers of a stormy day ! 

From wave to wave we're driven, 
And Fancy's flash, and Reason's ray, 
Serve but to light the troubled way — 

There's nothing calm, but Heaven ! 



OH, THOU! WHO DRY'ST THE MOURNER'S TEAR. 

(.VIE. IIAYDN.) 

" He healeth the broken in heart, and bindeth up their wounds." - 
Psalm cxlvii. 3. 

Oh, Thou ! who dry'st the mournei"'s tear, 

How dark this world would be, 
If, when deceiv'd and wounded here, 

"We could not fly to Thee ! 
The friends, who in our sunshine live, 

"When winter comes, are flown ; 



SACRED SONGS. 247 

And he who has but tears to give, 

Must weep those tears alone. 
But Thou wilt heal that broken heart, 

Which, like the plants that throw 
Their fragrance from the wounded part, 

Breathes sweetness out of woe. 

When joy no longer soothes or cheers, 

And even the hope that threw 
A moment's sparkle o'er our tears, 

Is dimm'd and vanish'd too, 
Oh, who would bear life's stormy doom, 

Did not thy Wing of Love 
Come, brightly wafting through the gloom 

Our Peace-branch from above ? 
Then sorrow, touch'd by Thee, grows bright 

With more than rapture's ray ; 
As darkness shows us worlds of light 

We never saw by day ! 



WEEP NOT FOR THOSE. 

(AIR. AVISON.) 

Weep not for those whom the veil of the tomb, 

In life's happy morning, hath hid from our eyes, 
Ere sin threw a blight o'er the spirit's young bloom, 

Or earth had profan'd what was born for the skies, 
Death chill'd the fair fountain, ere sorrow had stain'd it ; 

'Twas frozen in all the pure light of its course, [it, 

And but sleeps till the sunshine of Heaven has unchain'd 

To water that Eden where first was its source. 



248 SACRED SONGS. 

Weep not for those whom the veil of the tomb, 
In life's happy morning, hath hid from our eyes, 

Ere sin threw a blight o'er the spirit's young bloom, 
Or earth had profan'd what was born for the skies. 

Mourn not for her, the young Bride of the Vale, 1 

Our gayest and loveliest, lost to us now, 
Ere life's early lustre had time to grow pale, 

And the garland of Love was yet fresh on her brow. 
Oh, then was her moment, dear spirit, for flying 

From this gloomy world, while its gloom was un- 
known — 
And the wild hymns she warbled so sweetly, in dying, 

"Were echoed in heaven by lips like her own. 
Weep not for her — in her spring-time she flew 

To that land where the wings of the soul are unfuiTd ; 
And now, like a star beyond evening's cold dew, 

Looks radiantly down on the tears of this world. 

THE TURF SHALL BE ilY FRAGRANT SHRINE. 

(Ain. STEVENSON.) 

The turf shall be my fragrant shrine ; 
My temple, Lord ! that Arch of thine ; 

1 This second verse, which I wrote long after the first, alludes to 
the fate of a very lovely and amiable girl, the daughter of the late 
Colonel Bambrigge, who was married in Ashbourne church, Oc- 
tober 31. 1815, and died of a fever in a few weeks after : the sound of 
her marriage-bells seemed scarcely out of our ears when we heard of 
her death. During her last delirium she sung several hymns, in a 
voice even clearer and sweeter than usual, and among them were some 
from the present collection, (particularly, " There's nothing bright but 
Heaven,") which this very interesting girl had often heard me sing 
during the summer. 



SACRED SONGS. 249 

My censer's breath the mountain airs, 
And silent thoughts my only pray'rs. 1 

My choir shall be the moonlight waves, 
When murm'ring homeward to their caves, 
Or when the stillness of the sea, 
Even more than music, breathes of Thee ! 

I'll seek, by day, some glade unknown, 
All light and silence, like thy Throne ; 
And the pale stars shall be, at night, 
The only eyes that watch my rite. 

Thy Heaven, on which 'tis bliss to look, 
Shall be my pure and shining book, 
Where I shall read, in words of flame, 
The glories of thy wondrous name. 

I'll read thy anger in the rack 

That clouds awhile the day-beam's track ; 

Thy mercy in the azure hue 

Of sunny brightness, breaking through. 

There's nothing bright, above, below, 
From flowers that bloom to stars that glow, 
But in its light my soul can see 
Some feature of thy Deity. 

There's nothing dark, below, above, 
But in its gloom I trace thy Love, 
And meekly wait that moment, when 
Thy touch shall turn all bright again ! 

1 Pii orant tacite. 



250 SACKED SONGS. 

SOUXD THE LOUD TIMBREL. 

Miriam's soxg. 
(air. — AV1SON. 1 ) 

" And Miriam the Prophetess, the sister of Aaron, took a timbrel in 
her hand ; and all the women went out alter her with timbrels and 
with dances." — ExoJ. xv. 20. 

Sound the loud Timbrel o'er Egypt's dark sea ! 
Jehovah has triumph'd — his people are free. 
Sing — for the pride of the Tyrant is broken, 

His chariots, his horsemen, all splendid and brave — 
How vain was their boast, for the Loud hath but spoken, 

And chariots and horsemen are sunk in the wave. 
Sound the loud Timbrel o'er Egypt's dark sea ; 
Jeuovaii has triumph'd — his people are free. 

Praise to the Conqueror ! praise to the Lord ! 

His word was our arrow, his breath was our sword — 

Who shall return to tell Egypt the story 

Of those she sent forth in the hour of her pride ? 
For the Lord hath looked out from his pillar of glory 2 , 

And all her brave thousands are dashed in the tide. 
Sound the loud Timbrel o'er Egypt's dark sea ; 
Jehovaii has triumph'd — his people are free ! 

1 I have so much altered the character of this air, which is from 
the beginning of one of Avison's old-fashioned concertos, that, with- 
out this acknowledgment, it could hardly, I think, be recognised. 

2 " And it came to pass, that, in the morning watch, the Lord 
looked unto the host of the Egyptians, through the pillar of fire and 
of the cloud, and troubled the host of the Egyptians." — Exod. 
xiv. 24. 



SACKED SONGS. 251 

GO, LET ME WEEP. 

(AIK. STEVENSON.) 

Go, let me weep — there's bliss in tears, 

When he who sheds them inly feels 
Some ling'ring stain of early years 

Effac'd by every drop that steals. 
The fruitless showers of worldly woe 

Fall dark to earth and never rise ; 
While tears that from repentance flow, 

In bright exhalement reach the skies. 
Go, let me weep. 

Leave me to sigh o'er hours that flew 

More idly than the summer's wind, 
And, while they pass'd, a fragrance threw, 

But left no trace of sweets behind 

The warmest sigh that pleasure heaves 

Is cold, is faint to those that swell 
The heart, where pure repentance grieves 

O'er hours of pleasure, lov'd too well. 
Leave me to sigh. 



COME NOT, LOED. 

(AIR. HAYDN.) 

Come not, O Lord, in the dread robe of splendour 
Thou wor'st on the Mount, in the day of thine ire ; 

Come veil'd in those shadoAVS, deep, awful, but tender 
Which Mercy flings over thy features of fire ! 



52 SACRED SONGS. 

Lord, thou reniemb'rest the night, when thy Nation l 
Stood fronting her Foe by the red-rolling stream ; 

O'er Egypt thy pillar shed dark desolation, 
"While Israel bask'd all the night in its beam. 

So, when the dread clouds of anger enfold Thee, 
From us, in thy mercy, the dark side remove ; 

"While shrouded in terrors the guilty behold Thee, 
Oh, turn upon us the mild light of thy Love ! 



WERE NOT THE SINFUL MARY'S TEARS. 

(AlK. STEVENSON.) 

"Were not the sinful Mary's tears 

An offering worthy Heaven, 
When, o'er the faults of former years, 

She wept — and was forgiven ? 

Winn, bringing every balmy sweet 

Her day of luxury stor'd, 
She o'er her Saviour's hallow'd feet 

The precious odours pour'd ; — 

And wip'd them with that golden hair, 

Where once the diamond shone ; 
Though now those gems of grief were there. 

Which shine for God alone ! 

1 " And it came between the camp of the Egyptians and the camp 
of Israel ; and it was a cloud and darkness to them, but it gave light 
by night to these." — Exod. xiv. 20 



SACRED SONGS. 253 

"Were not those sweets, so humbly shed — 

That hair — those weeping eyes — 
And the sunk heart, that inly bled — 

Heaven's noblest sacrifice ? 

Thou, that hast slept in error's sleep, 

Oh, wouldst thou wake in Heaven, 
Like Mary kneel, like Mary weep, 

" Love much l " and be forgiven ! 



AS DOWN IN THE SUNLESS RETREATS. 

(AIK. HAYDN.) 

As down in the sunless retreats of the Ocean, 

Sweet flowers are springing no mortal can see, 
So, deep in my soul the still prayer of devotion, 
Unheard by the world, rises silent to Thee, 
My God ! silent, to Thee — 
Pure, warm, silent, to Thee. 

As still to the star of its worship, though clouded, 

The needle points faithfully o'er the dim sea, 
So, dark as I roam, in this wintry world shrouded, 
The hope of my spirit turns trembling to Thee, 
My God ! trembling, to Thee — 
True, fond, trembling, to Thee. 

1 " Her sins, which are many, are forgiven ; for she loved much.' 
Luke, vii. 47. 



254 SACRED SONGS. 



BUT WHO SHALL SEE. 

(AIR. STEYEXSON.) 

But who shall see the glorious day 

When, thron'd on Zion's brow, 
The Lord shall rend that veil away 

Which hides the nations now ? x 
When earth no more beneath the fear 

Of his rebuke shall lie; 2 
When pain shall cease, and every tear 

Be wip'd from ev'ry eye. 3 

Then, Judah, thou no more shalt mourn 

Beneath the heathen's chain ; 
Thy days of splendour shall return, 

And all be new again. 4 
The Fount of Life shall then be quaff'd 

In peace, by all who come; 5 
And every wind that blows shall waft 

Some long-lost exile home. 

1 " And he will destroy, in this mountain, the face of the covering 
cast over all people, and the veil that is spread over all nations." — 
Isaiah, xxv. 7. 

* " The rebuke of his people shall he take away from off all the 
earth." — Isaiah, xxv. 8. 

3 " And God shall wipe away all tears from their eyes ; . . . . 
neither shall there be any more pain." — Rev. xxi. 4. 

* " And he that sat upon the throne said, Behold, I make all 
things new." — Rev. xxi. 5. 

5 " And whosoever will, let him take the water of life freely." — 
Rev. xxii. 17. 



SACRED SONGS. 255 

ALMIGHTY GOD! 

CHORUS OF PRIESTS. 
(AIR. MOZART.) 

Almighty God ! when round thy shrine 
The Palm-tree's heavenly branch we twine, l 
(Emblem of Life's eternal ray, 
And Love that " fadeth not away,") 
We bless the flowers, expanded all, 2 
We bless the leaves that never fall, 
And trembling say, — " In Eden thus 
" The Tree of Life may flower for us ! " 

When round thy Cherubs — smiling calm, 
Without their flames 3 — we wreathe the Palm, 
O God ! we feel the emblem true — 
Thy Mercy is eternal too. 



1 " The Scriptures having declared that the Temple of Jerusalem 
was a type of the Messiah, it is natural to conclude that the Palms, 
which made so conspicuous a figure in that structure, represented that 
Life and Immortality which were brought to light by the Gospel." — 
Observations on the Palm, as a Sacred Emblem, by W. Tighe. 

2 "And he carved all the walls of the house round about with 
carved figures of cherubims, and palm-trees, and open flowers." — 
1 Kings, vi. 29. 

3 " When the passover of the tabernacles was revealed to the great 
lawgrrer in the mount, then the cherubic images which appeared in 
that structure were no longer surrounded by flames ; for the taber- 
nacle was a type of the dispensation of mercy, by which Jehovah 
confirmed his gracious covenant to redeem mankind." — Observations 
on the Palm. 



256 SACKED SONGS. 

Those Cherubs, with their smiling eyes, 
That crown of Palm which never dies, 
Are but the types of Thee above — 
Eternal Life, and Peace, and Love ! 



O FAIR! PUREST! 

SAINT AUGUSTINE TO HIS SISTER. 1 
(AIR. — MOORE.) 

O fair ! O purest ! be thou the dove 
That flies alone to some sunny grove, 
And lives unseen, and bathes her wing, 
All vestal white, in the limpid spring. 
There, if the hov'ring hawk be near, 
That limpid spring in its mirror clear, 
Reflects him, ere he reach his prey, 
And warns the timorous bird away. 

Be thou this dove ; 
Fairest, purest, be thou this dove. 

The sacred pages of God's own book 
Shall be the spring, the eternal brook, 

1 In St. Augustine's Treatise upon the advantages of a solitary 
life, addressed to his sister, there is the following faneifid passage, 
from which, the reader will perceive, the thought of this song was 
taken : — " Te, soror, nunquam nolo esse securam, sed timere semper- 
que tuam fragditatem habere suspectam, ad instar pavidoe columbas 
frequentare rivos aquarum et quasi in speculo accipitris cernere super- 
volantis effigiem et cavere. Rivi aquarum sentential sunt scripturarum, 
qua; de limpidissimo sapientiae fonte profluentes," &c. &c. — De Vit. 
Eremit. ad Soror em. 






SACRED SONGS. 257 

In whose holy mirror, night and day, 
Thou'lt study Heaven's reflected ray ; — 
And should the foes of virtue dare, 
With gloomy wing, to seek thee there, 
Thou wilt see how dark their shadows lie 
Between Heaven and thee, and trembling fly ! 

Be thou that dove ; 
Fairest, purest, be thou that dove. 



ANGEL OF CHAHITY. 

(AIR. HANDEL.) 

Angel of Charity, who, from above, 

Comest to dwell a pilgrim here, 
Thy voice is music, thy smile is love, 

And Pity's soul is in thy tear. 
When on the shrine of God were laid 

First-fruits of all most good and fair 
That ever bioom'd in Eden's shade, 

Thine was the holiest offering there. 

Hope and her sister, Faith, were given 

But as our guides to yonder sky ; 
Soon as they reach the verge of heaven, 

There, lost in perfect bliss, they die. 1 
But, long as Love, Almighty Love, 

Shall on his throne of thrones abide, 
Thou, Charity, shalt dwell above, 

Smiling for ever by His side ! 

" Then Faith shall fail, and holy Hope shall die, 
One lost in certainty, and one in joy." — Prior. 



258 SACRED SONGS. 

BEHOLD THE SUN. 

(.MR. LORD MORNINGTON.) 

Behold the Sun, how bright 
From yonder East he springs, 

As if the soul of life and light 
"Were breathing from his wings. 

So bright the Gospel broke 

Upon the souls of men ; 
So fresh the dreaming world awoke 

In Truth's full radiance then. 

Before yon Sun arose, 

Stars cluster'd through the sky — 
But oil, how dim ! how pale were those, 

To His one burning eye ! 

So Truth lent many a ray, 
To bless the Pagan's night — 

But, Lord, how weak, how cold were they 
To Thy One glorious Light ! 



LORD, WHO SHALL BEAR THAT DAY? 

(ATE. DR. BOYCE.) 

Lord, who shall bear that day, so dread, so splendid, 
When we shall see thy Angel, hov'ring o'er 



SACRED SONGS. 259 

This sinful world, with hand to heav'n extended, 

And hear him swear by Thee that Time's no more ? l 
When Earth shall feel thy fast consuming ray — 
Who, Mighty God, oh who shall bear that clay ? 

When through the world thy awful call hath sounded — ■ 
" Wake, all ye Dead, to judgment wake, ye Dead !" 2 

And from the clouds, by seraph eyes surrounded, 
The Saviour shall put forth his radiant head ; 3 

While Earth and Heav'n before him pass away — 4 

Who, Mighty God, oh who shall bear that day ? 

When, with a glance, th' Eternal Judge shall sever 
Earth's evil spirits from the pure and bright, 

And say to those, " Depart from me for ever ! " 

To these, "Come, dwell with me in endless light!" 6 

When each and all in silence take their way — 

Who, Mighty God, oh who shall bear that day ? 

1 " And the angel which I saw stand upon the sea and upon the 
earth, lifted up his hand to heaven, and sware by Him that liveth for 
ever and ever, .... that there should be time no longer." — Rev. x. 
5, 6. 

2 " Awake, ye Dead, and come to judgment." 

3 " They shall see the Son of Man coming in the clouds of 
heaven — and all the angels with him." — Matt. xxiv. 30. and xxv. 31 . 

4 "From whose face the earth and the heaven fled away." — 
Rev. xx. 11. 

5 " And before Him shall be gathered all nations, and He shall 
separate them one from another 

" Then shall the King say unto them on his right hand, Come, ye 
blessed of my Father, inherit the kingdom prepared for you, &c. 

" Then shall he say also unto them on the left hand, Depart from 
me, ye cursed, &c. 

" And these shall go away into everlasting punishment ; but the 
righteous into life eternal." — Matt. xxv. 32. et seq. 



280 SACRED SOXGS. 

OH, TEACH ME TO LOVE THEE. 

(.UK. HATDN.) 

Oh, teach me to love Thee, to feel what thou art, 
Till, filled with the one sacred image, my heart 

Shall all other passions disown ; 
Like some pure temple, that shines apart, 

Reserv'd for Thy worship alone. 

In joy and in sorrow, through praise and through blame, 
Thus still let me, living and dying the same, 

In Thy service bloom and decay — 
Like some lone altar, whose votive flame 

In holiness wasteth away. 

Though born in this desert, and dooni'd by my birth 
To pain and affliction, to darkness and dearth, 

On Thee let my spirit rely — 
Like some rude dial, that, fix'd on earth, 

Still looks for its light from the sky. 



WEEP, CHILDREN OF ISRAEL. 

(AIR. STEVENSON.) 

"Weep, weep for him, the man of God — l 

In yonder vale he sunk to rest ; 
But none of earth can point the sod 2 

That flowers above his sacred breast. 
"Weep, children of Israel, weep ! 

1 " And the children of Israel wept for Moses in the plains of 
Moab." — Deut. xxxiv. 8. 

* " And he buried him in a valley in the land of Moab ; . . . . but 
no man knoweth of his sepulchre unto this day," — Ibid. ver. 6. 






SACRED SONGS. 261 

His doctrine fell like Heaven's rain, 1 

His words refresh'd like Heaven's dew — 

Oh, ne'er shall Israel see again 
A Chief, to God and her so true. 
Weep, children of Israel, weep ! 

Remember ye his parting gaze, 

His farewell song by Jordan's tide, 
When, full of glory and of days, 

He saw the promis'd land — and died. 2 
Weep, children of Israel, weep ! 

Yet died he not as men who sink, 

Before our eyes, to soulless clay ; 
But, chang'd to spirit, like a wink 

Of summer lightning, pass'd away. 3 
Weep, children of Israel, weep ! 



LIKE MORNING, WHEN HER EARLY BREEZE. 

(AIR. ■ BEETHOVEN.) 

Like morning, when her early breeze 
Breaks up the surface of the seas, 

1 " My doctrine shall drop as the rain, my speech shall distil as the 
dew." — Moses' Song, Deut. xxxii. 2. 

2 " I have caused thee to see it with thine eyes, but thou shalt not 
go over thither." — Deut. xxxiv. 4. 

3 " As he was going to embrace Eleazer and Joshua, and was still 
discoursing with them, a cloud stood over him on the sudden, and he 
disappeared in a certain valley, although he wrote in the Holy Books 
that he died, which was done out of fear, lest they should venture to 
say that, because of his extraordinary virtue, he went to God." — 
Josephus, book iv. chap. viii. 

s 3 



262 SACRED SONGS. 

That, in those furrows, dark with night, 
Her hand may sow the seeds of light — 

Thy Grace can send its breathings o'er 
The Spirit, dark and lost before, 
And, fresh'ning all its depths, prepare 
For Truth divine to enter there. 

Till David touch'd his sacred lyre, 
In silence lay th' unbreathing wire ; 
But when he swept its chords along, 
Ev'n angels stoop'd to hear that song. 

So sleeps the soul, till Thou, oh Lord, 
Shalt deign to touch its lifeless chord — 
Till, wak'd by Thee, its breath shall rise 
In music, worthy of the skies ! 



COME, YE DISCONSOLATE. 

(AIR. GERMAN.) 

Come, ye disconsolate, where'er you languish, 

Come, at God's altar fervently kneel ; 
Here bring your wounded hearts, here tell your anguish 

Earth has no sorrow that Heaven cannot heal. 

Joy of the desolate, Light of the straying, 
Hope, when all others die, fadeless and pure, 

Here speaks the Comforter, in God's name saying — 
" Earth has no sorrow that Heaven cannot cure." 



SACRED SONGS. 263 

Go, ask the infidel what boon he brings us, 
What charm for aching hearts he can reveal, 

Sweet as that heavenly promise Hope sings us — 
" Earth has no sorrow that God cannot heal." 



AWAKE, ARISE, THY LIGHT IS COLIE. 

(AIR. STEVENSON.) 

Awake, arise, thy light is come ; l 

The nations, that before outshone thee, 

Now at thy feet lie dark and dumb — 
The glory of the Lord is on thee ! 

Arise — the Gentiles to thy ray, 

From ev'ry nook of earth shall cluster ; 

And kings and princes haste to pay 
Their homage to thy rising lustre. 2 

Lift up thine eyes around, and see, 

O'er foreign fields, o'er farthest waters, 

Thy exil'd sons return to thee, 

To thee return thy home-sick daughters. 



1 " Arise, shine ; for thy light is come, and the glory of the Lord is 
risen upon thee." — Isaiah, lx. 

2 " And the Gentiles shall come to thy light, and kings to the 
brightness of thy rising." — lb. 

3 " Lift up thine eyes round about, and see ; all they gather them- 
selves together, they come to thee : thy sons shall come from afar, and 
thy daughters shall be nursed at thy side." — lb. 

s 4 



264 SACRED SONGS. 

And camels rich, from Midian's tents, 

Shall lay their treasures down before thee ; 

And Saba bring her gold and scents, 
To fill thy air and sparkle o'er thee. 1 

See, who are these that, like a cloud, 2 
Are gathering from all earth's dominions, 

Like doves, long absent, when allow'd 

Homeward to shoot their trembling pinions. 

Surely the isles shall wait for me, 3 

The ships of Tarshish round will hover, 

To bring thy sons across the sea, 
And waft their gold and silver over. 

And Lebanon thy pomp shall grace — 4 
The fir, the pine, the palm victorious 

Shall beautify our Holy Place, 

And make the ground I tread on glorious. 



1 " The multitude of camels shall cover thee ; the dromedaries of 
Midian and Ephah ; all they from Sheba shall come ; they shall 
bring gold and incense." — Isaiah, lx. 

2 " Who are these that fly as a cloud, and as the doves to their 
windows?" — lb. 

3 " Surely the isles shall wait for me, and the ships of Tarshish 
first, to bring thy sons from far, their silver and their gold with 
them." — lb. 

4 " The glory of Lebanon shall come unto thee ; the fir-tree, the 
pine-tree, and the box together, to beautify the place of my sanctuary ; 
and I will make the place of my feet glorious." — lb. 



SACKED SONGS. 265 

No more shall Discord haunt thy ways, 1 
Nor ruin waste thy cheerless nation ; 

But thou shalt call thy portals, Praise, 

And thou shalt name thy walls, Salvation. 

The sun no more shall make thee bright, 2 
Nor moon shall lend her lustre to thee ; 

But God, Himself, shall be thy Light, 
And flash eternal glory through thee. 

Thy sun shall never more go down ; 

A ray, from Heav'n itself descended, 
Shall light thy everlasting crown — 

Thy days of mourning all are ended. 3 

My own, elect, and righteous Land ! 

The Branch, for ever green and vernal, 
Which I have planted with this hand — 

Live thou shalt in Life eternal. 4 

1 "Violence shall no more be heard in thy land, wasting nor 
destruction within thy borders ; but thou shalt call thy walls, Sal- 
vation, and thy gates, Praise." — Isaiah, Ix. 

2 " Thy sun shall be no more thy light by day ; neither for bright- 
ness shall the moon give light unto thee : but the Lord shall be unto 
thee an everlasting light, and thy God thy glory." ■ — lb. 

3 " Thy sun shall no more go down ; .... for the Lord shall be 
thine everlasting light, and the days of thy mourning shall be ended." 

— lb. 

4 " Thy people also shall be all righteous ; they shall inherit the 
land for ever, the branch of my planting, the work of my hands." 

— lb. 



266 SACRED SONGS. 

THERE IS A BLEAK DESERT. 

(.UK. CRESCENTIXI.) 

There is a bleak Desert, where daylight grows weary 
Of wasting its smile on a region so dreary — 

What may that Desert be ? 
'Tis Life, cheerless Life, where the few joys that come 
Are lost like that daylight, for 'tis not their home. 

There is a lone Pilgrim, before whose faint eyes 
The water he pants for but sparkles and llies — 

Who may that Pilgrim be? 
'Tis Man, hapless Man, through this life tempted on 
By fair shining hopes, that in shining are gone. 

There is a bright Fountain, through that Desert stealing, 
To pure lips alone its refreshment revealing — 

What may that Fountain be? 
'Tis Truth, holy Truth, that, like springs under ground, 
By the gifted of Heaven alone can be found. 1 

There is a fair spirit, whose wand hath the spell 
To point where those waters in secresy dwell — 

Who may that Spirit be ? 
'Tis Faith, humble Faith, who hath learn'd that, where'er 
Her wand bends to worship, the Truth must be there ! 

1 In singing, the following line had better be adopted, — 
" Can but by the gifted of Heaven be found." 



SACRED SONGS. 267 

SINCE ELEST THY WOED. 

(AIR. NICHOLAS FREEMAN.) 

Since first Thy "Word awak'd my heart, 

Like new life dawning o'er me, 
Where'er I turn mine eyes, Thou art, 

All light and love before me. 
Nought else I feel, or hear, or see — 

All bonds of earth I sever — 
Thee, O God, and only Thee 

I live for, now and ever. 

Like him whose fetters dropp'd away 

When light shone o'er his prison, 1 
My spirit, touch'd by Mercy's ray, 

Hath from her chains arisen. 
And shall a soul Thou bidst be free, 

Return to bondage ? — never ! 
Thee, O God, and only Thee 

I live for, now and ever. 



HAEK! 'TIS THE BEEEZE. 

(AIR. ROUSSEAU.) 

Hark ! 'tis the breeze of twilight calling 

Earth's weary children to repose ; 
While, round the couch of Nature falling, 

Gently the night's soft curtains close. 

1 " And, behold, the angel of the Lord came upon him, and a light 
shined in the prison, .... and his chains fell off from his hands." — 
Acts, xii. 7. 



268 SACRED SONGS. 

Soon o'er a world, in sleep reclining, 
Numberless stars, through yonder dark, 

Shall look, like eyes of Cherubs shining 
From out the veils that hid the Ark. 

Guard us, oh Thou, who never sleepest, 

Thou who, in silence thron'd above, 
Throughout all time, unwearied, keepest 

Thy watch of Glory, Pow'r, and Love. 
Grant that, beneath thine eye, securely, 

Our souls, awhile from life withdrawn, 
May, in their darkness, stilly, purely, 

Like "sealed fountains," rest till dawn. 



WHERE IS YOUR DWELLING, YE SAINTED? 

(AIR. HASSE.) 

Where is your dwelling, ye Sainted ? 

Through what Elysium more bright 
Than fancy or hope ever painted, 

Walk ye in glory and light ? 
Who the same kingdom inherits ? 

Breathes there a soul that may dare 
Look to that world of Spirits, 

Or hope to dwell with you there ? 

Sages ! who, ev'n in exploring 

Nature through all her bright ways, 

Went, like the Seraphs, adoring, 
And veil'd your eyes in the blaze — 



SACRED SONGS. 269 

Martyrs ! who left for our reaping 

Truths you had sown in your blood — 

Sinners ! whom long years of weeping 
Chasten'd from evil to good — 

Maidens ! who, like the young Crescent, 

Turning away your pale brows 
From earth, and the light of the Present, 

Look'd to your Heavenly Spouse — 
Say, through what region enchanted, 

"Walk ye, in Heaven's sweet air ? 
Say, to what spirits 'tis granted, 

Bright souls, to dwell with you there ? 



HOW LIGHTLY MOUNTS THE MUSE'S WING. 

(AIR. ANONYMOUS.) 

How lightly mounts the Muse's wing, 

Whose theme is in the skies — 
Like morning larks, that sweetes sing 

The nearer Heav'n they rise. 

Though Love his magic lyre may tune, 
Yet ah, the flow'rs he round it wreathes 

Were pluck'd beneath pale Passion's moon, 
Whose madness in their odour breathes. 

How purer far the sacred lute, 

Round which Devotion ties 
Sweet flowers that turn to heav'nly fruit, 

And palm that never dies. 



270 SACRED SONGS. 

Though War's high-sounding harp may be 
Most welcome to the hero's ears, 

Alas, his chords of victory 

Are wet, all o'er, with human tears. 

How far more sweet their numbers run, 
Who hymn, like saints above, 

No victor, but th' Eternal One, 
No trophies but of Love ! 



GO FORTH TO THE MOUNT. 

(AIR. STEVENSON.) 

Go forth to the Mount — bring the olive-branch home, 1 
And rejoice, for the day of our Freedom is come ! 
From that time 2 , when the moon upon Ajalon's vale, 

Looking motionless down 3 , saw the kings of the earth, 
In the presence of God's mighty Champion, grow pale — 

Oh, never had Judah an hour of such mirth ! 
Go forth to the Mount — bring the olive-branch home, 
And rejoice, for the day of our Freedom is come ! 

1 " And that the) r should publish and proclaim in all their cities, 
and in Jerusalem, saying, Go forth unto the mount, and fetch olive- 
branches," &c. &c. — Nek viii. 1 5. 

8 " For since the days of Jeshua the son of Nun unto that day had 
not the children of Israel done so : and there was very great gladness." 
— Neh. viii. 17. 

3 " Sun, stand thou .still upon Gibeon ; and thou, Moon, in the 
valley of Ajalon." — Josh. x. 12. 



SACRED SONGS. 271 

Bring myrtle and palm — bring the boughs of each tree 
That's worthy to wave o'er the tents of the Free. 1 
From that day, when the footsteps of Israel shone, 

With a light not their own, through the Jordan's deep 
tide, 
Whose waters shrunk back as the Ark glided on — 2 

Oh, never had Judah an hour of such pride ! 
Go forth to the Mount — bring the olive-branch home, 
And rejoice, for the day of our Freedom is come ! 



IS IT NOT SWEET TO THINK, HEEEAETER. 

(AIR. HAYDN.) 

Is it not sweet to think, hereafter, 
When the Spirit leaves this sphere, 

Love, with deathless wing, shall waft her 
To those she long hath mourn'd for here ? 

Hearts, from which 'twas death to sever, 
Eyes, this world can ne'er restore, 

There, as warm, as bright as ever, 
Shall meet us and be lost no more. 



1 " Fetch olive-branches, and pine-branches, and myrtle-branches, 
and palm-branches, and branches of thick trees, to make booths." — 
Neh. viii. 15. 

2 " And the priests that bare the ark of the covenant of the Lord 
stood firm on dry ground in the midst of Jordan, and all the 
Israelites passed over on dry ground." — Josh. iii. 1 7. 



272 SACRED SONGS. 

When wearily we wander, asking 
Of earth and heav'n, where are they, 

Beneath whose smile we once lay basking, 
Blest, and thinking bliss would stay ? 

Hope still lifts her radiant finger 

Pointing to th' eternal Home, 
Upon whose portal yet they linger, 

Looking back for us to come. 

Alas, alas! doth Hope deceive us? 

Shall friendship — love — shall all those ties 
That bind a moment, and then leave us, 

Be found again where nothing dies ? 

Oh, if no other boon were given, 

To keep our hearts from wrong and stain, 

Who would not try to win a Heaven 
Where all we love shall live aijain ? 



WAR AGAINST BABYLON. 

(AIR. NOVELLO.) 

" War against Babylon ! " shout we around, l 
Be our banners through earth unfurl'd ; 

Rise up, ye nations, ye kings, at the sound — 2 

" War against Babylon ! " shout through the world ! 

1 " Shout against her round about." — Jer. 1. 1 5. 

8 " Set ye up a standard in the land, blow the trumpet among the 
nations, prepare the nations against her, call together against her the 
kingdoms," &c. &c. — Jer. li. 27. 



SACRED SONGS. 273 

thou, that dwellest on many waters, l 

Thy day of pride is ended now ; 
And the dark curse of IsraeFs daughters 

Breaks, like a thunder-cloud, over thy brow ! 
War, war, war against Babylon! 

Make bright the arrows, and gather the shields, 2 

Set the standard of God on high ; 
Swarm we, like locusts, o'er all her fields, 

" Zion" our watchword, and " vengeance" our cry ! 
Woe! woe! — the time of thy visitation 3 

Is come, proud Land, thy doom is cast — 
And the black surge of desolation 

Sweeps o'er thy guilty head, at last ! 

War, war, war against Babylon ! 



1 " Oh thou that dwellest upon many waters, .... thine end is 
come." — Jer. li. 13. 

2 " Make bright the arrows ; gather the shields .... set up the 
standard upon the walls of Babylon." — Jer. li. 11, 12, 

3 " Woe unto them ! for their day is come, the time of their 
visitation ! " — Jer. 1. 27. 



INDEX. 



Pa^e 

A hunter once in that grove reclin'd. 225 

All that's bright must fade 31 

Almighty God! when round thy shrine 257 

A Lottery, a Lottery 20S 

Angel of Charity, who, from above 259 

As by the shore, at break of day 90 

As down in the sunless retreats of the Ocean 255 

Ask not if still I love 190 

As Love, one summer eve, was straying , 101 

As o'er her loom the Lesbian maid 88 

As once a Grecian maiden wove 95 

" A Temple to Friendship," said Laura, enchanted 29 

Awake, arise, thy light is come.. 265 

A wounded chieftain lying... 227 

Beauty and Song , 170 

Behold the Sun, how bright 260 

Being weary of love ] 18 

Be still, my heart : I hear them come 156 

Black and blue Eyes 123 

Boat Glee 207 

Bright be thy dreams — may all thy weeping 52 

Bright moon, that high in heav'n art shining 199 

Bring the bright garlands hither 75 

Buffo Song , 192 

But who shall see the glorious day 256 

Calm as, beneath its mother's eyes 100 

Calm be thy sleep as infants' slumbers ! 158 



276 INDEX. 

Page 

Canadian Boat Song 27 

Cephalus and Procris 235 

Child's Song, from a Masque 165 

Come, chase that starting tear away 48 

Come, fill round a bumper, fill up to the brim 108 

" Come, if thy magic Glass have pow'r 228 

Come, listen to my story 61 

Come list, while I tell of the heart-wounded Stranger 234 

Come, maids and youths, for here we sell 159 

Come, May, with all thy flowers 117 

Come not, O Lord, in the dread robe of splendour 253 

Come, play me that simple air again 216 

Come, ye disconsolate, where'er you languish 264 

Common Sense and Genius 44 

Couldst thou look as dear as when 133 

Cupid and Psyche 221 

Cupid armed 174 

Cupid's Lottery 208 

Dear Fanny 124 

Dear? yes, though mine no more 191 

Do not say that life is waning 70 

Dost thou not hear the silver bell 71 

Dost thou remember that place so lonely 36 

Down in yon summer vale 170 

Dreaming for ever, vainly dreaming 201 

Drink of this cup — Osiris sips ' 217 

Drink of this cup — when Isis led 218 

Ev'ry season hath its pleasures 85 

Faintly as tolls the evening chime 27 

Fall'n is thy throne, O Israel ! 245 

Fanny, dearest! 203 

Fare thee well, thou lovely one ! 35 

Farewell, Theresa ! 64 

Fear not that, while around thee 82 

Finland Love Song 126 

Fleetly o'er the moonlight snows 202 



INDEX. 277 

Page 

Flow on, thou shining river 30 

Fly swift, my light gazelle 178 

For thee alone I brave the boundless deep 148 

From life without freedom, say, who would not fly ? 124 

Gaily sounds the castanet 46 

Go forth to the Mount — bring the olive-branch home 272 

Go, let me weep — there's bliss in tears 253 

Go, now, and dream o'er that joy in thy slumber 63 

Go, then — 'tis vain to hover 52 

Guess, guess 194 

Hark! the vesper hymn is stealing 39 

Hark! 'tis the breeze of twilight calling 269 

Have you not seen the timid tear « c 1 

Hear me but once, while o'er the grave 50 

Here, at thy tomb, these tears I shed 181 

Here sleeps the bard who knew so well 70 

Here's the bower she lov'd so much 125 

Here, take my heart — 'twill be safe in thy keeping 115 

Here, while the moonlight dim 92 

Her last words, at parting, how can I forget? 149 

Hero and Leander 222 

Hip, Hip, Hurra! 108 

Hope comes again, to this heart long a stranger 79 

How happy, once, though wing'd with sighs 139 

How lightly mounts the Muse's wing 271 

How shall 1 woo? , 84 

" Hush, hush!" how well 109 

Hush, sweet Lute, thy songs remind me 98 

Hymen, late, his love-knots selling 58 

I come from a land in the sun-bright deep 172 

If, after all, you still will doubt and fear me 140 

If in loving, singing, night and day 76 

If I speak to thee in Friendship's name 84 

If life for me hath joy or light 144 

If thou wouldst have me sing and play 160 

If thou wouldst have thy charms enchant our eyes 86 

t 3 



278 INDEX. 

Pa?e 

I give thee all — I can no more 142 

I have a garden of my own 165 

I knew by the smoke, that so gracefully curl'd 26 

I love a maid, a mystic maid 194 

I love but thee 140 

In myrtle wreaths my votive sword I'll cover 189 

In vain all the Knights of the Underwald woo'd her 230 

I saw the moon rise clear ,., 126 

Is it not sweet to think, hereafter 273 

It came o'er her sleep, like a voice of those days..... 219 

I've been, oh, sweet daughter 152 

Joys of youth, how fleeting ! 49 

Keep those eyes still purely mine 78 

Let's take this world as some wide scene 150 

Let thy joys alone be remember'd now 141 

Lightly, Alpine rover 147 

Like morning, when her early breeze 263 

Like one who, doom'd o'er distant seas 81 

Long years have pass'd, old friend, since we 200 

" Look here," said Rose, with laughing eyes 177 

Lord, who shall bear that day, so dread, so splendid 260 

Love alone 86 

Love and the Sun-dial 126 

Love and Time 127 

Love is a hunter-boy 47 

Love's light summer-cloud 128 

Love's Victory 151 

Love thee, dearest? love thee? 141 

Love thee ? — so well, so tenderly 132 

Love, wand'ring through the golden maze 129 

Lusitanian War-Song 135 

March! nor heed those arms that hold thee 105 

Mary, I believ'd thee true 19 

Melologue 235 

Merrily every bosom boundeth 130 



INDEX. 279 

Page 

Mind not though daylight around us is breaking 163 

My harp has one unchanging theme 42 

My Heart and Lute 142 

My Mopsa is little 187 

Ne'er talk of Wisdom's gloomy schools 69 

Nets and Cages 61 

Nights of music, nights of loving 121 

Night waneth fast, the morning star 159 

No — leave my heart to rest, if rest it may 72 

No life is like the mountaineer's 97 

Not from thee the wound should come 193 

Now the vapour, hot and damp , 23 

O'er mountains bright 53 

Oft, in the stilly night 38 

Oft, when the watching stars grow pale 65 

Oh ! Abyssinian tree 219 

Oh, call it by some better name., 115 

Oh, come to me when daylight sets 37 

Oh, days of youth and joy, long clouded 55 

Oh, do not look so bright and blest 176 

Oh, guard our affection, nor e'er let it feel 74 

Oh, Memory, how coldly 91 

Oh, no — not ev'n when first we lov'd 42 

Oh, soon return 131 

Oh, teach me to love Thee, to feel what thou art 262 

Oh, the joys of our ev'ning posada 120 

Oh think, when a hero is sighing 208 

Oh, Thou! who dry'st the mourner's tear 248 

Oh, were it not for this sad voice 217 

One dear smile 133 

On to the field, our doom is seal'd 110 

O say, thou best and brightest 79 

Our first young love resembles 122 

Our white sail caught the ev'ning ray 131 

Pain and sorrow shall vanish before us 128 

Past twelve o'clock — past twelve 110 



280 INDEX. 

Page 

Peace be around thee, -wherever thou rov'st 43 

Peace, peace to him that's gone 143 

Peace to the slumb'rers ! 57 

Place the helm on thy brow 174 

Poor broken flow'r! what art can now recover thee? 118 

Poor wounded heart, farewell 116 

Reason, and Folly, and Beauty, they say 34 

Rememb'rest thou that setting sun 112 

Rememberest thou the hour we past 28 

Remember the time, in La Mancha's shades 131 

Reuben and Rose, a Tale of Romance 2 

Rose of the Desert! thou, whose blushing ray 144 

Round the world goes, by day and night 17:5 

Row gently here 54 

Sacred Songs ,. 241 

Saint Augustine to his Sister 258 

Saint Jerome's Love 246 

Sale of Cupid 181 

Say, what shall be our sport to-day? 52 

Say, what shall we dance? Ill 

See, the dawn from Heaven is breaking 60 

She has beauty, but still you must keep your heart cool 124 

Shine out, Stars! let Heav'n assemble 119 

Should those fond hopes e'er forsake thee 33 

Since first Thy Word awak'd my heart 269 

Sing to Love — for, oh, 'twas he 151 

Slumber, oh slumber ; if sleeping thou mak'st 74 

Song of a Hyperborean II 172 

Song of Hercules to his Daughter 152 

Song of the Alps 201 

Song of the Evil Spirit of the Woods 23 

Song of the olden Time 145 

Song of the Poco-curante Society 211 

Sound the loud Timbrel, o'er Egypt's dark sea 252 

Sovereign Woman 214 

So warmly we met and so fondly we parted 32 

Spirit of Joy, thy altar lies 205 



INDEX. 281 

Page 

Spring and Autumn 85 

Still, like dew in silence falling , 187 

Still thou fliest, and still I woo thee 197 

Still thus, when twilight gleam'd 229 

Still when daylight o'er the wave 161 

Susan 204 

Take hence the howl ; though heaming 64 

Tell her, oh, tell her, the lute she left lying 121 

Tell me, kind Seer, I pray thee 223 

" Tell me, what's Love?" said Youth, one day 226 

The heam of morning trembling 135 

The bird, let loose in eastern skies 244 

The Boy of the Alps 147 

The brilliant black eye 123 

The Castilian Maid 131 

The Crystal- Hunters 53 

The dance was o'er, yet still in dreams 214 

The dawn is breaking o'er us ,.. 179 

The day of love 135 

The Dream of Home 153 

The Dream of the two Sisters 213 

The dying Warrior 227 

The East Indian 117 

The Evening Gun ,.'....« 112 

The Exile 159 

The Fancy Fair 159 

The Garland I send thee was cull'd from those bowers 83 

The Gazelle... , 71 

The Halcyon hangs o'er ocean 166 

The Homeward March 156 

The high-born Ladye 230 

The Indian Boat 232 

The Lake of the Dismal Swamp 20 

The Language of Flowers 178 

The Leaf and the Fountain 223 

The Legend of Puck the Fairy 169 

The Magic Mirror 228 

The Meeting of the Ships 107 



282 INDEX. 

Page 

The Musical Box 177 

Then, fare thee well, ruy own dear love 45 

Then first from Love, in Nature's bow'rs 198 

The night-wind is moaning with mournful sigh 222 

The Parting before the Battle 110 

The Pilgrim 229 

The pretty Rose-tree 118 

There are two Loves, the poet sings 168 

There came a nymph dancing 155 

There comes a time, a dreary time...., 41 

There is a bleak Desert, where daylight grows weary 268 

There's a song of the olden time 145 

There's something strange, I know not what 192 

The Ring, a Tale 8 

The Russian Lover 202 

The song of war shall echo through our mountains 135 

The song that lightens our languid way 207 

The Steersman's Song 22 

The Stranger 234 

The summer webs that float and shine 162 

The turf shall be my fragrant shrine 250 

The world was hush'd, the moon above 167 

The wreath you wove, the wreath you wove 5 

They met but once, in youth's sweet hour 164 

They tell me thou'rt the favour'd guest 154 

The two Loves 168 

The Voice 219 

The young Indian Maid 155 

The young Muleteers of Grenada , 120 

The young rose 1 give thee, so dewy and bright 136 

They told her that he, to whose vow she had listen'd 221 

The Watchman, a Trio no 

This world is all a fleeting show 248 

Those Evening Bells 32 

Thou art not dead — thou art not dead! 99 

Thou art, O God, the life and light 243 

Thou bidst me sing the lay I sung to thee 173 

Though lightly sounds the song I sing 201 

Though sacred the tie that our country entwineth 210 



INDEX. 283 

Page 

Though 'tis all but a dream at the best 67 

Thou lov'st no more 76 

'Tis all for thee 144 

'Tis said — but whether true or not 127 

" 'Tis the Vine! 'tis the Vine!" said the cup -loving boy 106 

To-day, dearest! is our 113 

Too plain, alas, my doom is spoken 76 

To sigh, yet feel no pain 205 

To those we love we've drunk to-night 211 

To weave a garland for the rose 182 

'Twas midnight dark 232 

Twin'st thou with lofty wreath thy brow. 185 

Tyrolese Song of Liberty 130 

Unbind thee, love, unbind thee, love 191 

Up and march! the timbrel's sound 96 

Up, sailor-boy, 'tis day 188 

Up with the sparkling brimmer 104 

Wake thee, my dear — thy dreaming 146 

Wake up, sweet melody 157 

" War against Babylon!" shout we around 274 

Weep not for those whom the veil of the tomb 249 

Weep, weep for him, the man of God 262 

Welcome, sweet bird, through the sunny air winging 104 

Were not the sinful Mary's tears 254 

When abroad in the world thou appearest 77 

When evening shades are falling 94 

When first that smile 56 

When freshly blows the northern gale 22 

When T am dead 143 

When Leila touch'd the lute 206 

When Love is kind 82 

When Love was a child, and went idling round 50 

When Love, who rul'd as Admiral o'er 194 

\When midst the gay I meet 136 

When night brings the hour 80 

When o'er the silent seas alone 107 

When on the lip the sigh delays 114 



284 INDEX. 

Page 

When the Balaika 89 

When the first summer bee 66 

"When the sad word " Adieu," from my lip is now falling 186 

When the wine-cup is smiling before us 68 

When thou art nigh, it seems 171 

When thou shalt wander by that sweet light 58 

When through the Piazetta 62 

When to sad music silent you listen 178 

When twilight dews are falling soft 137 

V\ here are the visions that round me once hover'd? 72 

Where is the heart that would not give? 210 

Where is your dwelling, ye Sainted? 270 

Where shall we bury our shame? 68 

While I touch the string 44 

Whiep'rings, heard by wakeful maids 49 

Who comes so gracefully 102 

Who hast not felt how sadly sweet 153 

Who is the maid my spirit seeks 246 

Who'll buy my Love-knots? 58 

Who'll buy? — 'tis Folly's shop, who'll buy? 87 

Why does she so long delay? 184 

Wind thy horn, my hunter boy 73 

With moonlight beaming , 1 65 

Wouldst know what tricks, by the pale moonlight 169 

Yes! had I leisure to sigh and mourn 203 

Yes, yes, when the bloom of Love's boyhood is o'er 134 

Young Jessica sat all the day 138 

Young Love found a Dial once, in a dark shade 126 

Young Love liv'd once in a humble shed 204 

Youth and Age 226 



THE END. 



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